


Game Changers

by Meercatwhisperer112



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angels, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Character Death, Drug Abuse, F/F, Gore, Mafiastuck, Multi, Murder, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Rose-Centric, Torture, because we need more rose, general criminal activity, imma stop rambling now, karkat is an epic mafia boss, yes I know those two are weird together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 66,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meercatwhisperer112/pseuds/Meercatwhisperer112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Lalonde had no intention of getting involved with one of the most feared gangs in Skaia, but between her estranged brother and an omniscient meddler, she doesn't have much choice. Now the Felt are going missing one by one, angels have been sighted in the second realm, and a prophecy she can't quite make heads or tails of weighs heavily on her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A prophecy

**_ ==> Be the witch _ **

You’re name is Rose Lalonde, and right now you’re fifty shades of confused.

It had started with cabin fever. All the weird stuff in your life starts with cabin fever, as when you’re bored you tend to make rash decisions. You’d thought you were being pretty restrained- rather than getting into drugs or injecting ink into large swathes of skin, you’d impulse bought a bag of fortune cookies and a truth potion. It was only going meant to be a bit of fun. You hadn’t expected to wind up with a _prophecy_ of all things.

You scan the lines again.

_Do not learn the Eldritch ways_

_For human skin should not be gray_

_And feeble human tongues can’t stand_

_The weight the Eldritch words command._

_The sweetest Rose still has its thorns_

_Trust not the friendly Capricorn_

_Void keeps its closest secrets tight_

_The darkness knows to fear the light._

The poem is laid out in front of you, each line on a separate slip of paper. Unlike the other fortunes, their words are in lilac ink rather than black. Scattered around them are cookie crumbs, and the other fortunes you’ve pulled out- painfully basic things, like _You are blonde_ and _There is a tree near you._ The sort of things one would expect when one is dicking around with magic.

The wind suddenly picks up, pulling the papers into the air before you can grab them. You try anyway, leaning forward to snatch at them. They slip through your fingers and are lost.

That’s when you notice the boy.

He’s sat on the other side of the park, near a family of prospitians out enjoying the clear weather. His clothes are a muted grey and large sunglasses cover most of his face. You can tell that he’s looking right at you.

You break open another cookie, and when you look up again he’s gone.

Popping the cookie into your mouth, you pack up. The last fortune was anticlimactic, albeit not wrong- _This galaxy is heliocentric._ It’s getting late, and there’s a heaviness in the air that suggests the brief respite from Skaia’s rainy season isn’t going to last much longer. You’d rather not be drenched.

You weave through the crowds of carapaces returning home from work, pausing just long enough to drop a boondollar into the hat of some cullbait huddled by the side of the road. The troll- looks like rust, but you can’t see very well underneath all its bundling- gives a grateful grunt and you carry on your way.

That had been one of the strangest things to wrap your head around. The portal had been surprising, yes, as had the revelation of magic, but with the amount of wizard slash you had read in your formative years you had managed to take it in your stride.

However, the fact that aliens also existed pushed the entire situation to a level of implausible that even the most open-minded, Luna Lovegood type characters would find difficult to swallow.

When you first arrived, you thought that trolls were also inhabitants of Skaia, same as the carapaces. In fact, you’d managed to maintain that belief for a fairly long time, most likely because you tended to avoid them- as a species, they weren’t known for their gentleness. It wasn’t until a cullbait girl had spent a few days at your cabin, sheltering from the blizzards of the cold season, that you actually learned anything about them.

Like that they came from the same dimension as humans, but just happened to be on the other side of the universe.

You push your gate open, skirting the pothole where you dropped some antimatter a few months ago, and walk up the path. The wind rustles the leaves of the trees around you and it’s beginning to rain, the plink plink of droplets hitting loam filling the air, but over that you hear a crack.

When you reach the front door, you reach into your pocket where you keep your key. The crack comes again.

You spin and pin the boy to the wall, a knitting needle digging into the flesh of his windpipe. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch.

“What gave it away?”

“I have yet to see a troll that wears Converse.” He sighs, and then before you have a chance to blink you’re the one pinned to the wall, his hand on your throat- not strangling you, but firm enough that you know you haven’t a chance of escaping. He presses the boondollar back into your hand.

“Thanks for the sentiment. I really appreciate it. You gonna invite me in?”

“I don’t really have a choice in the matter, now, do I?”

“I was trying to be polite.” The hand falls away and he opens the door- you didn’t even see him grab the key- motioning for you to go first. You’re coming to the sinking conclusion that you’re vastly outmatched. “It’s not my fault that you don’t recognise a fucking gentleman when you see one.”

“Yes; it’s a complete mystery as to how I failed to pick up on your oh-so-obvious charm. Why are you following me?” The door falls shut behind him, and he strides past you to sit on your dining table, shoving a sheath of papers and some bottles out the way first. A small vial of banshee screams teeters precariously, but thankfully does not fall.

“Think of me as your conscription card. You’re being drafted to ‘Nam. Kiss your loved ones goodbye, pack your shit and get ready to douse some naked kids in napalm; there’s a war going on, and we need you.” When you do not react beyond raising an eyebrow, he sighs and resettles. “You ever heard of Beta?” You shake your head. “What about the Midnight Crew?”

“The gang?”

“Yeah; well, Beta’s a subsection of that. Like one of the hydra heads, except it’s pretty much one of the main heads. More like the dragon’s head. Okay, no, this metaphor’s gotten away from me. Anyway, you’ve gotten their attention and so I’ve been sent to fetch you.”

He can’t be serious.

He gives you a look over the top of his glasses, irises a jewel red that sends a jolt straight through you.

He’s absolutely serious.

“Why would a gang want me?”

“Lot of reasons; mainly, though, they want someone who’s good at getting information. Sources point to you.”

“These sources sound far better at it than me.”

“You don’t get a say in this. You can either come with me willingly, or I’ll pick you up and drag you there myself. It’s your call.” You pause, eyeing him and weighing your options. If he’s really part of the Midnight Crew then it doesn’t matter if you manage to overpower him- they’ll just send someone else to fetch you. On the other hand, you’ve been going stir crazy ever since the rainy season started two months ago.

All the interesting stuff in your life starts with cabin fever.

 “Just one question- are you a Capricorn?”

“No, I’m a Libra; why?”

“Give me a few minutes to pack. I’ll come.”

**_ ==> Be the 8est!!!!!!!! _ **

Of course. You’re never anything but the best in everything you do. It’s what makes you a winner, unlike all those other losers and fuckups.

At the moment, Aradia holds pride of place at the top of that list.

Your orders were simple- get in, grab the documents detailing their purchases- namely of that new drug you’ve been hearing a lot about, 'angel blood' or something- and then completely fuck their shit up. Well, the memo had said ‘Leave nothing standing,’ but the meaning is the same. What it didn’t say was for the idiot to let her guard down and let three henchmen jump her.

You duck a left hook from the dersite you’re currently fighting and shoot a dark look at Aradia, who is too busy with her own two carapaces to notice. These guys clearly come from a long and noble line of pedigree goon, with big meaty faces and hands the size of trashcan lids. Mouth Breather, as you’ve decided to name yours, swings both of these hands down in a strike that shakes you to your bones, no matter that you dodged it, and leaves a large crack in the concrete floor of the warehouse.

“Vriska!” Aradia shouts, and out of the corner of her eye you see her reeling, one of her henchmen going in for another strike. You dart your foot out and catch his ankle, but this fight is fast going south and you realise you need to do something soon.

The warehouse is filled with all sort of random things in an attempt to put up a convincing front to the Skaian authorities, none of whom are buying it. The section you’re in seems to be gardening supplies- lawn mowers, bags of fertiliser and triffid guns all mixed together. Your eye lands on a wood chipper and a sharp grin tugs across your face. On the next dodge, you youth roll over to it, flicking it on with your toe.

Now: how to get them into it?

Carapaces are immune to troll psychic powers, annoyingly- all troll psychic powers save for chucklevoodoos at least, and since Gamzee is probably happily guzzling Faygo in his respite block and fantasizing over Karkat papping him, that isn’t much help. You look around, trying to work out how you’re going to do this, and your gaze settles on Aradia.

Carapaces may be immune, but rustbloods certainly aren’t.

You shove the wood chipper, which conveniently comes with wheels, towards the other fight, dodge a roundhouse kick and snatch control over Aradia’s mind. Using her, you grab the wrists of her aggressors and tug sharply backwards. They’re caught off balance, and all three of them tumble into the machine, blood flying everywhere as the sound of bones cracking and flesh being sliced fills the air. The henchman who had been attacking you freezes in shock, and you take the opportunity to drive the heel of your palm into his nose, forcing the bone there straight into his brain. He dies quickly, with only a soft gurgle.

Blood is slowly spreading across the floor, rust mixing with the oily black that dersites leak if you stab them. The wood chipper lets out a final whine and gives up, about two thirds of a body’s worth of flesh and bone shards scattered across the ground next to it. A foot still sticks out the other end, and you wrinkle your nose in distaste, choosing instead to head back to the main office and finish breaking into the safe.

You are the best code breaker. It is you. The safe needs an eight digit code, and a single roll of your dice provides you with the numbers, which you key in to the electronic pad. It gives a whir and a click, swinging open.

There are the documents Karkat was raving about, along with a couple of gold ingots which you grin and pocket. At the back is another strongbox, which soon succumbs to your picking. Inside are several packets of the drug that has been causing you all these problems. You hesitate, before captchaloguing it too. Perhaps Pupa can figure out what it actually _is._

“I didn’t appreciate that,” says a voice behind you, and you huff and push yourself to your feet. Aradia is leaning against the doorframe, clothes torn and bloodstained but otherwise none the worse for wear. “That regeneration was unnecessarily painful.”

“I’m soooooooo sorry; you _clearly_ needed my help, and it’s not like there’s any real damage.” You both leave the office, skirting around blood smears as you walk back through the warehouse.

“One day you’ll realise that saying sorry like that just makes it more obvious how completely unapologetic you actually are.”

“What do you want from me? A 5000 word dissertation on why I feel guilty?”

“I’ll settle for one of those gold bars. The reaper’s been asking for payment again, and this little stunt you pulled is just going to make him antsy.”

“Sorry, not sorry.” You hand over the bar anyway, the doors of the warehouse clanging shut behind you. She captchalogues it, and both of you turn back to face the building. “Okay, maybe I’m kind of sorry; that wood chipper didn’t look fun. Do you want to raze it?” She looks at you, one eyebrow quirking up.

“Really? It’s your turn.”

“I know. Just level the fucking thing, or I’ll do it myself anyway.” Aradia grins and tosses her hair back, lifting one hand up and pointing it at the building in a way vaguely reminiscent of the antagonist of In Which A Group Of Mutants Who Should Not Exist Attempt To Justify Their Existence And Destroy All Proper Gened And Mother Grub Fearing Trolls (Rated R for pale promiscuity and themes of rebellion).

You can see the building aging before you as you watch- slowly at first, paint peeling off in layers and the room sagging a little. Then the windows begin to shatter and cracks appear in the walls, and suddenly the whole thing collapses. You can’t help but be impressed, even if you’ve seen it a hundred times before

“You’re getting faster.” Her grin widens and she leans back against the gate, slipping her hands into her pockets.

“You didn’t actually think it was the bad weather that was affecting all of Equius’ stables, did you?” You snort at the thought of the idiot and his precious musclebeasts. How his flushed affections haven't flipped yet is a miracle.

“You're little black crush actually makes me kind of nauseous. I mean, you could do soooooooo much better than sergeant hemocaste."

"Don't you start again, Vriska."

"I'm just saying! You're going to look back at this and you're going to feel so embarrassed."

“I have only one word: Ampora.” Your no doubt cutting and brilliant reply is cut off by a timid yet terse

“I’m sure you’re having a, well, a great time giggling over there. But we should probably, I don’t know, leave the scene of the crime? Like, pretty soon?”

“Calm yourself, Pupa,” you call back, striding towards the car; Aradia falls into step behind you. “We were just talking about how platonically repugnant we find you.”

“Vriska, I’m pretty sure that insulting me, isn’t what you’re supposed to do, as my moirail.” Aradia slips into the front next to him and you huff and climb in the back. It’s one of your deals: she gets shotgun every mission that you kill her.

She gets shotgun most missions.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before entering the pale quadrant with a renowned bitch,” you snap back. You can see him roll his eyes, because the action makes his horns swing slightly.

“In that case I guess I’d either get some better friends or face the fact that I’ll die alone.”

“Don’t worry,” says Aradia sweetly, adjusting the chair so that she’s leaning back. “You'll always have Gamzee."

He flushes brown and doesn't say another word the entire journey back.

* * *

Karkat Vantas takes one look, eyes flicking between the blood on your shoes and Aradia’s torn clothes, and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You killed her. Again. Why did you kill her again?”

“She threw me in a wood chipper,” sniffs Aradia and you stamp on her foot. She smirks back and kicks you in the shin. You both begin to jostle each other, freezing when you catch sight of the glare that Karkat is levelling at you. Before he can say anything, you shove the documents into his hands, hoping he won’t notice the not-particularly-subtle bulge of gold in your pockets. He quickly scans them.

“English. English. Who the fuck do we know that’s called English?”

“Jake English. Jade’s human dancestor thing. Sir.” You tack it on at the end, and he raises an eyebrow, eyes falling on your coat.

“Yeah, Serket, you can keep it. Don’t do the sir thing, it freaks me out coming from you.” He snaps the file shut, and passes both it and the bags of the drugs into Tavros’ hands. “Nitram, stick the file in my office and then give these a look over. Get Harley to help. I want to know what kind of drug it is, I want to know its potency, I want to know what it’s made out of, and mainly I want to know where we can get some. Think you can have answers by tomorrow’s meeting?” Tavros gives a shaky nod.

“I can try.” He leaves, and Karkat turns back to you and your partner.

“You two are going to get English- Jake English, I mean, not whoever the fuck this guys is. Start planning, because our aim is probably for tomorrow night.” You glance out the window- the sun is just peeking over the horizon, and though you’re bone tired you have all day to sleep.

“We can do it tonight,” says Aradia, stealing the words straight out of your mouth. Karkat just shakes his head.

“The new Lalonde is coming tonight, and I want you at the meeting when we introduce her. No, don’t argue Serket,” he snaps, seeing you open your mouth. “No earlier than then, and that’s final. Now get out of my sight.” You take one look at his expression, and decide to just go with it.

 

** == > Let’s be Rose again **

He lets you take one bag of clothing and that’s it, keeping a careful eye on what you put in. At your annoyed glare, he simply shrugs.

“I don’t you pulling any witchy shit on me. Magical broads like you, there’s no knowing what could happen. I’d probably end up a frog or some shit, and I am way too handsome to pull that off. Ladies everywhere would die from grief, stripped of the chance to get a piece of this fine ass.” He looks like he’s going to continue, but you give him your best Look and he shuts up.

When you finish packing, he explains how you’re getting there- portal most of the way, and then by horse the rest because apparently it’s warded- and proceeds to burn down your cottage. You don’t let him see any reaction save for a slight pursing of your lips.

“I had a partially reanimated cat in there.”

“Huh. Wouldn’t have pegged you as a necromancy type. Guess you’ll just have to partially reanimate it again.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to care less.”

The portal stings slightly, as always, and you notice that the one you travel through is a deep Jade. Definitely not one he made himself then, because his aura is as red as his shoes. So- not good with physical magic, but obviously still a magic user, otherwise he wouldn’t have an aura in the first place.

“Wow, Lalonde,” he says after about twenty minutes riding. “You’re really talking my ear off. Any louder and everyone’s going to know we’re coming.” You pass from the muffled forest you’ve been riding in to a fair sized tunnel cut into the hill, where every noise seems to bounce back at you with a strange, tinny ring to it.

“Was there something you wanted me to talk about?” To your surprise, he shifts in the saddle, a small grimace breaking through his poker face.

“There’s something you should probably know before we get there actually.”

“Is it important?”

“Somewhere between a pet cat dying and Franz Ferdinand’s assassination.”

“I appreciate the ambiguity.”

“Fuck off. It’s...” You crest the hill, and as a large building comes into view you can physically see him bottle. “Oh cool, we’re here. Lalonde, say hello to your new home- partially reanimated cats not included.”

To be entirely honest, you never stopped to think about what your new headquarters would look like. However, you’re sure that if you had, the edifice suddenly looming right above you is the last thing you would have imagined.

It’s a strange amalgamation of what looks like an ancient Derse castle, with crumbling purple stones and balconies and turrets and all that, with what you know to be what a troll hive looks like- pointed angles with random protrusions jutting out and light shining through their small, square windows. It is, in a word, hideous.

“That is a fugly building,” you say, and Dave snorts so hard his sunglasses nearly fall off. He pushes them back up, and gives a small cough as though hoping to cover it up.

“Trolls are about as good at architecture as a one armed man is at playing the accordion. He tries his best, he really does, but all you get are jerky movements and the melancholy tune of the terrible.”

“The very sight of it gives small children nightmares. Descriptions of it are told as a cautionary tale to young architects. It is their Icarus, their warning of the consequences of flying too close to the sun.”

“It’s like the fucking ugly duckling of buildings, except in reverse- it starts off pretty decent looking, but as time passes it just deteriorates, dive bombing like a kamikaze pilot with something to prove. It-“

“Why don’t you nookchafes stop flogging the metaphorical deceased hoofbeast and spare me from ‘brain atrophy due to idiocy’ as my cause of death?” Dave rolls his eyes as a short, impeccably dressed troll steps out from the shadow next to the gate. “No, wait, never mind. It’s not like I’m trying to run a fucking organisation. Just keep prattling out your inanities like we have all the fucking time in the world on our hands.”

“Knight of Time, Vantas, or did you mess that memo? What are you even doing here anyway? Hanging out like a creeper at a frat party, some forty year old dude hoping to pick up jail bait like nobody’s business. Fucking weird, that’s what it is.” The troll glares back, before letting out a deep sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly enough that his fingers go white.

“Mr Milkshake is here. He wants to talk to Rose.” The troll turns to you, sighs again, and offers his hand to help you climb down. “God, fuck that guy. No, please don’t, that would be horrific. Just know that you’re talking to the most important man in Skaia short of the monarchy. Not me, I mean, Doc Scratch. That’s Mr Milkshake by the way.” He stops completely for a moment, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth in an obvious sign of frustration before relaxing again. “Fuck this. Follow me.” You glance at Dave, but all he does is shrug, so you shrug back and dismount. The troll takes your bag, and with a set of lungs that must constitute a good 90% of his body mass hollers “MEGIDO!” and tosses it outwards. Another troll, a girl this time, appears just in time to catch it and then fixes him with a glare.

“How many times have I told you about fucking with the time stream?”

“I don’t care, just get it to the new seer’s room. Or get Equius to get it to the new seer’s room. No, don’t do that, that would be disgusting. Just- just deal with it.” She looks at Dave, throws it at him and disappears again. He disappears too, taking your bag with him and leaving two horses just stood there in the middle of the driveway. Karkat sighs again.

“If he doesn’t get Nitram or Equius down here... whatever, we don’t have time for this shit. Follow me.” He strides into the night and you follow, feeling... less than overwhelmed by your introduction into a life of crime. You had expected the mafia to be a bit more intimidating than this, or at least better organised.

He doesn’t lead you to what looks like the building’s main entrance, preferring a small door inset deep into the stone. Beyond is a veritable warren of corridors, dimly lit by a mixture of candles and gas lamps and peppered with wooden chests.

“What do you keep in those?”

“Mostly, my worst nightmares and the urns that I use to store perished hopes and dreams. I think a couple of them might have tea, though.” His shoes echo off the stone with each step, and you notice that there are small heels on them. This is the dread mafia leader?

“Tea. Naturally. I don’t know what else I could have expected.”

“Save it, Lalonde, we have enough snarky broads running around without you immediately contributing to the clusterfuck.” The corridors grow narrower, and as you turn corner after corner you realise you have completely lost your bearings.

“Is it your aim to discombobulate anyone who passes these halls?”

“Only the ones we don’t like the look of.” Finally, you stop outside a dark wooden door inlaid with iron studs. “Here you fucking go. Goodbye.” He turns to leave.

“Are you really going to allow to me go in without imparting any knowledge of the man? You could at least tell me what species he is.” Karkat hesitates, then shrugs.

“Let’s go with carapace.” You give him a flat look, before turning and knocking on the door. A muffled voice calls for you to enter. “Oh, and Rose?” With your hand on the handle you pause, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Good luck.”

You give him a small nod and push the door open.


	2. Debriefing

** == > Rose: Enter room **

The door shuts behind you with a resounding click, and you turn to face the room. It’s average sized, filled with green furniture that clashes horribly with the purple stone, red carpets that clash with the green furniture, and gold draperies that somehow managed to clash with everything. Half hidden in the shadows, lurking so that you almost miss him, is the man you assume to be Mr Milkshake. The moment your eyes settle on him, he steps out into the lamplight.

“Hello, Miss Lalonde. My name is Doc Scratch.” He is...

You have no idea what he is.

Doc Scratch, aka the boss’ boss’ boss, looks fairly carapace-like at first glance. His fingers, wrapped around the stem of a cocktail glass, are smooth howlite like the other prospitians, and his figure is definitely humanoid, clad in a neatly pressed green suit. The only thing strange about him is his head.

It is strange because it is a giant cue ball, complete with a small chip near the apex of the dome. When his head moves you can hear the soft sloshing of some sort of liquid. The shell... covering... thing seems to also be made of howlite, and is as wide as his shoulders.

He holds out his left hand for you to shake, because his right is still holding the glass. Why a man with no mouth needs a cocktail is beyond you, but your question as to what is in his head is answered when you rescind your grip- he picks up another glass, tilts his head sideways, and fills it with a stream of drink that pours out what you suppose is his ear hole.

He then hands this to you. It looks disgusting.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because I’m good at gathering information?” He takes a... sip? From his glass, and inclines his head as though to suggest you do the same. You smile back and do not oblige.

“Is that the only reason? Oh dear. Oh dear, no. Do you believe in serendipity, Miss Lalonde?”

“Are you propositioning me?”

“Of course not. That would be inappropriate, and I would never behave inappropriately. I am, after all, an excellent employer.” The way he says it sounds vaguely sinister, and you feel yourself bristle.

“Is that what you believe yourself to be? My employer? I assume you know that I was not given any choice in the matter.”

“I did know that, but that is because I am omniscient, not because it was I who ordered it. I simply requested that you be hired; it is they who chose the why and the how.” He takes a step towards you, and then another one, and leaning his bulbous head forward until it is just centimetres from yours. “Now, I’ll ask again- do you believe in serendipity?”

He has no mouth, but you can smell his breath- it smells like ozone and those fish liver oil tablets your mother made you take when you were young. You wonder if you’re in over your head, but you stand your ground and do not shy away.

“I don’t think I do.” He makes a small huffing noise, but straightens up again.

“What if I told you of four humans who worked together in the same office, but didn’t meet until they all came to Skaia? Or that they had children, seperated from each other but destined to one day reunite? What if you heard of a feared gang of trolls, whose only descendants were all hatched within six sweeps of each other? Would you believe me if I told you about how these descendants formed two gangs, completely independent of each other, and went on to become some of the most feared individuals in the three realms? What would you say to that?

“I would say that it sounds too good to be true to me.”

“Well it is true; every word of it is true. Serendipity is as real as you or I or the magic that you practice.”

“I never said it wasn’t true, or it wasn’t real. It just sounds too good to be chance.” You hesitate, the words faltering on the tip of your tongue; you spit them out anyway. “It sounds like it’s been orchestrated.”

He stills.

“Who would have the wherewithal to do that?” His voice has gone soft, almost too soft for you to hear.

“A man who claims himself to be omniscient, perhaps?” There is a heavy pause. Then he turns and flings his glass against the wall behind him. It shatters on the purple stone, and shards rain down in crystals. You flinch, but do nothing more, watching the alcohol trickle down the walls.

He turns back, straightens out his tie, and sighs.

“The point to that- ahem- rather derailed conversation is that there would have been no point in them giving you a choice in this matter. You always would have arrived here, Miss Lalonde. This is your destiny.”

“I believe in destiny as much as I do serendipity, but I’m going to focus on what is probably the least relevant part of this conversation to you- are you saying I have a sibling?”

“Would you be surprised if I was?”

“No; I’d always suspected mother had had clandestine affairs before I was born. Or perhaps after. Who can say?” You spread your hands before you in a ’who knows?’ gesture, and take the opportunity to illicitly pour your drink into some garish pot plant. If he really is omniscient, then he’d have known you wouldn’t drink it anyway.

“Who indeed, save for someone such as yourself.”

“Myself being?”

“You’re a seer, Rose Lalonde, and not just any common seer: you’re a seer of light.” Somehow, when you’d imagined your Daniel Radcliffe moment, the messenger was never so... creepy.

“I assume those words have meaning. Ironically enough, you’re going to have to enlighten me to it.” Gods, you just wish he had facial expressions. His body language is difficult to read, and it's nerve wracking when you’ve seen how violently his mood can change. You keep your own face impassive, and curse the day his weird ball-head ever saw the sun.

“Light is knowledge. And, as a clever young girls such as yourself knows, knowledge is power.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just quote School House Rock. However, I can’t ignore the fact that you claim to be both omniscient and in need of someone who can obtain knowledge.”

“I don’t meddle, Rose; it is, after all, one of the things that makes me such an excellent employer. The Beta need someone who can get them information, and that someone is you.” He pauses, and for a moment you think that is all he will say on the matter. Instead, he reaches into a pocket, and pulls out what looks like a mini-version of his head. A tribal shrunken head perhaps? You somehow doubt it.

 However,” he continues after a pause, “I will give you two pieces of help. First, my Omni-ball, to aid your seeing abilities. It can either be a curse or a blessing- I’m curious to see, even though I already know, what it shall be for you.” He hands you the orb, which is made from polished howlite veined with grey. You see now that it is like a magic eight ball, also filled with liquid and with a clear window for prophecies. It is a surprising weight, and you cup it to you on instinct before slipping it into your sylladex.

“Thank you?”

“Don’t thank me yet. It has dark properties, so use it wisely. All you must do is ask it a question, though the answer may not always be clear at first. The second favour is that you may ask me, an omniscient being, one question. I am much more straightforward, but make it a good one. Questions are how we obtain our knowledge, after all, and knowledge is-“

“Is power, yes, you said.” You stop for a long moment, scrutinising him. He coughs into a fist, and for a moment you’re tempted to ask if he has lungs. But no. That would be silly. “Are you a Capricorn?” you ask instead, and if he had facial features you’re pretty sure he would be smiling.

“I see you’re already learning the right questions to ask. No, I am not.” The door behind you swings open, and you take this as your cue to leave. “Goodbye, Miss Lalonde.” He calls after you. “Happy seeing.”

 

** == > Kanaya: Debrief the new seer **

“Rose Lalonde?” you ask as she steps out the door, making her jump and reel to face you. The light off your skin makes her squint, and you dim yourself. “Better?”

“Rainbow drinkers don’t exist.”

“Neither do humans, Miss Lalonde, but here we both stand. Would you care to follow me?” You don’t wait for an answer, turning on your heel and walking back up the corridor in the direction from which you just came. She falls into step behind you.

“What’s next on my whistle-stop tour of this lovely crime ring? Will I be threatened again? Or perhaps we can burn some more of my possessions.”

“You sound frustrated. The Doctor does tend to have that effect on people.”

“Of course I’m frustrated! I haven’t received a straight answer to a single question all day, save for what star sign an omnipotent being _isn't,_  and now a troll vampire is leading me through this maze of gangster headquarters to lord only knows where. So yes, I suppose you could say I’m feeling fairly frustrated.” You reach the FRAF section and key in your code, ushering her into a small room just inside the door.

It’s a small conference room, barely used since FRAF membership exceeded seven, but it has polished tables and plush chairs and that's really all you need right now. You sit down and she follows suite, shooting you a resentful glare.

“Well, consider me the straight answer to all of your questions.”

“I thought trolls were pansexual and polyamorous.” You return her glare and she leans back into the chair, seeming to just suddenly relax, all at once. With any luck her little outburst has calmed her down. “I’m sorry, that was unnecessary; please, continue?”

“My name is Kanaya; I’m here to give you the standard briefing for all new members. Before we can proceed, you need to read the eight core rules and sign the waiver at the bottom saying that you agree.” You hand her the sheet of paper and watch as her eyes scan it, already knowing the rules off by heart thanks to Karkat’s annual ‘Refresher’ meetings- an event seemingly designed to refresh everyone’s platonic hatred for one another.

  1.        Follow the fucking chain of command
  2.        If people aren’t involved, keep them uninvolved
  3.        Non-FRAF members may only enter FRAF areas if accompanied by a FRAF member
  4.        FRAF members may not talk to non-FRAF or non-Beta individuals while under the influence of soporifics (or similar) without another FRAF member present. Non-FRAF members may not talk to non-Beta members while under the influence end of.
  5.        Full disclosure of all projects and activities must be given if questioned by a FRAF member (applies to FRAF members and non-FRAF members equally)
  6.        Don’t speak, sign or in any other way communicate with the Beta unless you have spoken with Karkat Vantas beforehand.
  7.        Don’t kill the fucking consorts.
  8.        Sexually assault someone, and your bulge will be ripped off, your nook filled with cement and your body dumped into a river. If you lack a nook, another orifice will be found. If you lack a bulge, one of your limbs will be used instead.



Sign here-

She takes the pen from you and with a flourish that in your opinion was completely unnecessary, signs it  _Rose Lalonde._ Handing the pen back to you, her gaze never leaving the sheet, she asks

"What's FRAF, and am I a member?"

“It stands for Fierce, Rude and Aggressive Fighters or Fruity Rumpus Asshole Factory, depending on who you ask. And yes, you are automatically a member due to your having siblings in Alpha.” She pauses, looking at you from the corner of her eye.

“Siblings? Plural?” You pull out the second sheet of paper, a large piece of A3 that’s been folded in half to fit it into the folder, and spread it out before the two of you. It has photos of all the FRAF members and their correlating Alpha dancestors; hers clearly stands out as the most recent addition, wedged into the corner. She stares at the line between it and the photos of Roxy, Dirk and Dave, and she lets out an almost imperceptible breath of air. “Dave?”

“I’m sorry. I assumed you knew.”

“I didn’t.” There is a long pause as she continues to stare at the photos, before abruptly folding the sheet up and pushing it away. “What else is there?”

“This is a rough floor guide of the headquarters." You hand her a third sheet. "You’re allowed to look at it for as long as you want while we sit here, but as soon as this conversation is over we shall have to destroy it. I suggest that you learn as much now as you can.”

“Rough? It looks like it was drawn by a blind person.”

“Most likely because it was, approximately half an hour ago. However, the key areas are still distinguishable. These are the FRAF areas- we are currently here. The meeting block is here; food can be found here or fetched for you by a consort; this will be your work area as we believed a magic proof room would be prudent; this is your new respite block, and the only one with access to it is you- save if Karkat decides to override.”

“On what grounds would that occur?”

“Breaking one of the core eight, killing one of the Alpha-16 or if an intervention is sorely needed. In the case of an intervention, he will give override power to that person’s moirail.” She nods and continues to study the map before handing it back to you.

“Well, I think I’ve gleaned as much information from this as I can. What else is there?” You hand her the folder and get to your feet.

“This has additional information about the organisation, to be perused at your leisure. In it you will find your identity code, which can be used for accessing restricted areas. Apart from that, there is a meeting at ten tomorrow morning in the meeting block and Karkat wants you there.” Rose nods and shoots you a quick, disarming smile.

“Thank you very much for your assistance, Kanaya.”

“It was my pleasure; if you ever need any help, be sure to come find me.”

“I will. Doubtless we’ll be seeing much more of each other in the near future.” You pause, and oh god, she gives you the world’s most un-subtle eyebrow wiggle. Your cheeks flush a dark green, and you barely manage to squeak out

“Quite!”

Before you abscond from the room.

** == > Karkat: Recieve startling information **

You take one look at the expression on Nepeta’s face as she slinks in, along with the bound and trussed body slung over one shoulder, and wish you had taken Gamzee up on his offer to ‘ _cool your motherfucking jets, my mad miracle bro.’_ As it is, you can feel a migraine beginning behind your gander bulbs. The way she drops the figure in front of you, like a baby meowbeast with its first kill, really doesn’t help.

“Is it talking?” you ask, kicking at it. If it weren’t for the horns peeking out above her Nepeta’s liberal use of rope, you wouldn’t even be able to tell that it’s a troll. It hisses at you and begins to wriggle.

“The huntress hasn’t tried to communicate with her unfurtunate prey. She pawt that Purrope might want to play with it instead.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh, beckoning two consorts over.

“Stick it in the interrorgation room and send Pyrope down when she’s free. Nepeta, I swear to Gog, Jegus and every other bastardised religious icon that our humans trip off their tongues every five fucking minutes, if you give me your entire report in third person I will personally kill every cat this side of Derse.” She gives you a baleful glare before sticking out her tongue before nodding her assent. Between you, the consorts pick up the writhing figure and trot off.

“Okay, Mr Grumpy Pants, but only because this is _really_ important.” You lean back from the wide eyes suddenly invading your personal space.

“Okay, important enough that it can’t go in a written report with everything else?” She nods, and steps further into your bubble.

“So, I was in the bushes out the back of the Alpha testing block, because Vriska wanted me to see if they’ve upgraded the locks there yet for tomorrow night’s heist.” You have to hunch down just to hear her talk, and she keeps shooting nervous looks around the room, despite the fact that you’ve been the only troll here since Kanaya left to debrief the new seer. “When I saw Roxy and Dirk walking up the path together.”

“Nepeta, is this is something to do with your fucking shipping wall-“

“No, silly! Listen!” She looks around again and hunches even closer. “And they were talking about the Felt, because apparently all the Felt have been going missing, no one knows where to, and they’re freaking out!” Sighing, you straighten up again.

“And now those maggot panned door handles are going to launch a raid because they fucking think it’s us. Right, just what we need, a-“ She grabs the front of your shirt and yanks you back down to her eye level.

“I said listen!” When you stay silent, she continues, voice now barely above a whisper. “They don’t think it’s us. They started talking about how worried Callie is about the missing leprechauns, and how no matter the fact that they keep moving the new ones to safe locations they’re still going missing. She thinks it’s her brother.”

“Brother?” You whisper back, then scowl. “Brother?” You repeat again in your normal voice.

“The human dancestor thing.”

“I didn’t even know she had an ancestor, let alone a dancestor.”

“ _She doesn’t.”_ Nepeta’s mouth is right next to your ear now, and it takes all your willpower to keep from shivering. She sounds terrified. _“Callie’s real name is Calliope.”_

It takes a moment for the implication of that to sink in, and when it does your blood turns cold.

“Nepeta,” you say, taking her by the shoulders and looking her square on. She’s biting her lip and, you realise, shaking like a leaf.  “What species is she?” Your voice is low and urgent and she looks like she’s about to bolt.

“She’s a cherub.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested in betaing this, I could really use some help finding my mistakes.  
> Hehe, get it? Beta?  
> I'll stop now


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, there is gore and torture in this chapter. Don't read on if you're not comfortable with that sort of thing. Ye've been warned.

  **== > Rose: Attend meeting**

When you arrive at the meeting room you are surprised to find it is already occupied, despite the fact that you were a good ten minutes early. A human girl is curled up in one of the chairs, soundly sleeping, and you hesitate, unsure of whether or not to wake her up.

“Don’t worry about her,” says a soft, almost dreamy voice, and then a troll you recognise as Aradia from last night passes you in the doorway. She seems much less high strung than when you saw her before, and as though reading your mind she gives you a small smile. “Don’t worry about me either. Communing with the reaper is an extremely mellowing experience.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” you murmur, taking the seat next to her. She smells damp and musty, like the bottom of a deep cave or a tomb that hasn’t been opened in years. You doubt that it is from her shampoo.

The room is silent for several minutes, save for the occasional snuffle from the sleeping girl and Aradia’s soft humming. For your part, you stare at your hands and resist the urge to readjust your headband, an old childhood tic for when you were nervous. The slam of the door opening makes you jump.

“Jade, would you, uh, please put your gun down.” The girl, Jade, lowers the pistol she’d pulled out and smiles at the two trolls sheepishly.

“Sorry guys. Don’t you know the saying ‘let sleeping humans lie’?”

“I’m, well, I’m pretty sure that that isn’t how the saying...” he trails off as the other troll pushes past him and grabs the seat opposite you.

“We get it, Toreasnore,” she says with a flip of her hair. He scowls, but when he sits down next to her their hands link together. She appraises you with a long look. “So, you’re the new seer. Tell me something about myself that I don’t know.”

“You have what appears to be grub sauce on your chin.” Aradia snorts and Jade falls back with peals of laughter, gun safely stowed away again. You allow yourself a small smile, and after a moment the troll gives a wry smile back, wiping the sauce away.

“Not bad. I’m Vriska Serket, and this doofus here is my moirail, Tavros.” They’re an odd pair; he has robotic legs that whir as he shifts, matching her left arm and eye. It seems to move independently of her right, which is fixed squarely on you, and you are briefly reminded of Mad Eye Moody. Then she flips her hair again and grins, wide and pointed like she knows something you don’t. “There’s a storm coming in three... two... one...”

“Get it into that useless pat of butter you so callously call a think pan!” Someone roars from the other side of the door, and if you had any money to your name you would put it on Karkat being the one who said that. “We are not funding any fucking doomsday devices!”

Lo and behold, your prophetic prowess is once again proved as Karkat slams into the room like a particularly annoyed tornado, followed by a drooping sea dweller. The others immediately snap to attention, even Aradia seeming to blink out of her fug to sit up straight, and you follow suit.

“But Kar,” the sea dweller whines, dropping into the chair on the other side of you. A distractingly dazzling array of rings glint up, half blinding you with their gleam.

“Ampora, if I hear one more peep out of you Kanaya is going to find herself with more Tyrian blood than she can drink in a sweep, do I make myself abso-fucking-lutely clear?” He leans back sulkily, but doesn’t say anything else. “Okay, Nitram, you have no more than ten words to tell me exactly what we are dealing with here.”

“Angel blood,” says Tavros, sliding a bag of dark green powder onto the middle of the table. You were unaware that glares could be deadpan, but somehow Karkat manages it.

“Well thank fuck, that just clears everything up. Tavros Nitram, lusii and gentletrolls, let’s give him a round of applause for telling me the fucking name of the fucking drug, the one fucking thing I actually knew about it. Fuck!”

“Do you need me to fetch you moirail, Karkat?” asks Jade, but he waves her off with an irritated shake of his hand.

“No. No, I’m calm.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out through gritted teeth before turning back to Tavros. “Would you care to elucidate?”

“The drug isn’t just called Angel Blood; it’s actually, well, angel blood. Literal. Blood of angels.” The room seems to freeze in time, and then Karkat leans slowly forward.

"Angel blood?"

"Yes."

"Third realm angels?"

"Yes."

"The blood of third realm angels?"

"Are you, uh, screwing with me?" Karkat slumps back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair.

"I just wanted to fucking check that the universe really does hate me more than any sane creature would have deemed physically or psychologically possible. The answer is it does; it really fucking does. Okay, Nitram, what else?"

“We tested it on a carapace, a human and a troll, and it appears to be hallucinogenic and highly addictive. From what I, I mean we, Jade helped me with everything, could tell, it stimulates the production of adrenaline, so it should be pretty easy to tell when people are on it, because they’ll be really jumpy. It also, um, melted the human’s teeth.” You grimace.

“And how the fuck does one go about extracting angel blood?”

“With a lot of fuckin’ difficulty,” snaps the sea dweller, and everyone turns to look at him. “Angels are trapped in the third realm. You’d have to go over there yourself to harvest it, or find a way to portal them over, except I don’t reckon even Doc Scratch could to that.”

“Just because you were too much of a loser to handle the third realm, Eridan, doesn’t mean everyone else is the same.” You wonder if Vriska has the physical capability to say a sentence without flipping her hair. “They’ve probably got a whole base set up for harvesting.”

“Angels don’t bleed, you fuckin’ dullard, leastways not the first time you stab them.”

“That’s a good idea,” say Karkat, and they both pause to look at him in confusion. “Ampora, on your feet. Come on, up! Okay, I want a three minute crash course on the third realm. Go.” Eridan gives an awkward cough before straightening up.

“Okay, well, you need ta understand that the third realm is real different from the other two. It’s not an alternate universe or anyfin like that-“

“No fish puns,” Karkat snaps,

“-because it isn’t even a universe. It’s like a solar system, only the centre is this giant black planet with fourteen other planets in orbit around it. The fourteen planets are where leprechauns live-“

“Leprechauns?” you ask, and he _glares._

“Yes, leprechauns, now if you’ll all stop fuckin’ interupptin’ me you might actually get school fed. Anyway, leprechauns, like what the Felt has, are about the same intelligence as humans, trolls and carapaces... well, some carapaces. You do know about the different levels a carapace, don’t you?” He asks you with a sneer.

“I will not hesitate to stab you,” you reply, glad now for the practice your mother gave you in keeping your voice perfectly calm. Aradia and Vriska snicker and Jade gives you a thumbs-up. Eridan flushes an ugly purple, but turns back to the rest of the table.

“That leaves the black planet. It is, in a word, fuckin’ evil, and no one should ever go there. It has two sentient races, the angels and the cherubs. Cherubs are born in pairs, and are the more intelligent of the two. While pupas and adolescents, they have barely any power; however, if a cherub’s twin is killed, they ascend and become completely deadly.”

“Hurry up and tells us about the angels,” says Vriska, pointedly yawning when he turns to her.

“You know, I’m sensin’ a lot of hostility in the room, and I reckon it’s ‘cause your face is pissin’ people off. How I’m supposed ta-“

“Ampora, tell it to your moirail; Serket, shut up. Both of you, stop with the fucking black flirting before I chunder all over this table.” They start to sputter out denials, and are glared down by Karkat. “Ampora, the angels?”

“Well, they’re dumber than the cherubs. Usually take orders from them. Start off benign enough, if you count only killin’ each other as benign. Problem is, once they’ve been killed they come back, and then they are nasty as all fuck. It’s a bitch to kill ‘em again, too, only if you do they’ll stay dead.”

“A double death?” Karkat looks worried, a heavy scowl settling over his features as he grabs a pen and begins to scribble on the back of Tavros’ papers.

“Well, yeah, I suppose you could call it that. Are you alright Kar?”

“The universe can go pail itself with a rusted pitchfork,” is his only reply, before slamming a button on the wall next to him. Within seconds a consort appears. “Take these to Kanaya,” he tells it. The yellow crocodile-thing scurries out. He turns back to Eridan.

“What does it take to kill them?”

“A legendary weapon is probably the only thing that’ll cut it, not unless you got a lot a juice in your punch.”

“And a cherub?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Do I look like I am at the fucking liberty of being questioned right now, so help me Ampora answer my fucking question or I will disembowel you and string up your innards like the universe’s tackiest bunting.”

“What happened to no black flirting?” whispers Aradia, and both her and Vriska dissolve into giggles only to wither under Karkat’s gaze.

“Are you quite done?” They nod, and he turns back to Eridan. “Ampora?”

“Before they ascend it’s really fuckin’ easy, though why anyone would do it I dunno, considerin’ it would make a monster outta the other one. After though... you’d probably have to have a juju, and a really powerful one at that, before you could even hope to make a dent.”

“A juju?” you ask, and are grateful when Aradia volunteers the answer, seemingly past all mellowness felt earlier.

“Jujus are game changers- extremely powerful objects with the potential to tip the scales in your favour. They’re rare and impossible to replicate, but even if you have one you need to keep your distance, as they’re known for their corrupting influence.”

“Do we have any?”

“Depends on what point of time you’re asking,” grouses Karkat. “The lumps of flaming faeces at Alpha keep stealing ours; we steal them pack, and then the mind numbing circle of stupidity repeats itself.”

“They’re often used as bargaining chips,” explains Jade. “If one of the core fift- sixteen, now, sorry- get’s caught then they’ll be swapped for a juju.”

“At the moment they have every single fuckin’ one.” The glare Eridan sends to the table suggests that he is less than thrilled about this. “Even the fuckin’ codpiece.”

“Codpiece?” You repeat, disbelieving.

“You get high level and low level jujus,” says Jade. “The more powerful it is, the more corrupting it is. Between us there are two high level ones and five or six low level ones, but Alpha has them all.”

“Not for long!” Vriska practically sings. “When we capture Jake English tonight we can trade him for aaaaaaaallllllll the jujus!”

“Not all of them,” Aradia corrects, “but we can definitely get one. I think Ahab’s Crosshairs will probably be the most useful, as none of us know how to weaponize Lil Cal.”

“Not to mention he’s an eldritch horror from the depths of the most fucked up grub’s day terrors.” The others nod assent. You purse your lips.

_It has dark properties, so use it wisely_.

“What about this?” you ask, and decaptchalogue the omni-ball. It glints in the harsh fluorescent light of the room, and the others lean forward. “Mr Milkshake gave it to me yesterday, to ‘aid my abilities.’”

“Yeah,” says Karkat, picking it up and giving it a close look. For the first time all meeting, he smiles. “Yeah, that definitely counts.”

 

** == > Terezi: Be the interrorgator **

While the others are in the meeting, you make your way down to the interrorgation room. The troll you’ll be talking to was the only one caught from the group that was after Nepeta. Works for the Alpha, but judging by the lack of calls received since her capture last night  very low member. She’s probably got nothing useful, but it always helps to be thorough. You left her in the room overnight to ponder her fate- a little alone time always seems to help.

She’s cuffed to the chair when you walk in, stiff backed and reeking of fear and determination. What a delicious combination. You can tell already that this is going to be fun, and you haven’t even begun yet.

“What’s your name?”

“Claude Penele,” she says, and you backhand her sharply. Smells like yellow, but obviously not a psiionic. Not good for much then.

“Wrong. What’s your name?”

“Claude Penele.” Slap.

“What’s your job?”

“Legislacerator.” Slap.

“Your job?”

“Threshcutioner.” Slap.

“Your. Job.”

“Bite me.” You grab the other chair and pull it up next to her, straddling it and staring at her over the back with your sightless eyes. You can smell the outline of your hand on your face; it smells like mustard on cinnamon, and when it’s over you’re going to have to ask Dave to get you a human hotdog, because all this is making you hungry.

“I’m going to be honest, little piss blood: I am not a nice troll. I can drag this out for hours if you make me, and I will enjoy every moment of it. You mentioned legislacerators: I happen to have studied everything about them, including interrogation techniques down to the finest detail, and I’ve been making some notes of my own. It’s not a matter of if you crack; it’s a matter of when you crack, and how much blood they’ll be washing off the floor. So I’ll ask you again: what’s. Your. Job.” She audibly gulps.

“Bite me.” You grin.

“Have it your way.”

You weren’t lying when you said you’d been refining the techniques of the legislacerators, but the comment about the blood may have been for effect: you’ve actually been looking into how to inflict the most pain while making the least mess. It’s fascinating, and it saves you from Karkat bitching about the sight of the gore all over you. Oh, what an intrepid leader. Oh, what a wimp.

So many toys, so little time, and your grin widens as you rummage through the bag. The tweezers first? Or the scissors? There’s something incredibly fun about taking a hammer and smashing someone’s phalanges one by one, but then your fingertips brush against the screwdriver and the choice is made.

You fasten her hands to the table and slowly twist the screws through the middle of her palms, listening to her howl profanities. She doesn’t talk. You rip off a claw and laugh as she screams when you stab a needle into the exposed skin. She doesn’t talk. You smash her knees in, and then every finger, hitting the one missing the claw extra hard, but she still. doesn’t. talk.

You twist her palm around until the tendon in her wrist sticks out sharply and slice clean through it. You get nothing for your troubles but incoherent hiccupping.

Nothing you do will make her sing, and you’re considering taking her other claws when the smell of translucent yellow tears really registers for the first time. You haven’t done anything to the eyes yet, but you cackle when the idea occurs to you. Grabbing the tweezers, you put your face up against her, noses almost touching.

“I’m going to rip your eyelids off.” The spike of fear is strong enough to be almost overpowering, and she leans as far away from you as she can with her hands screwed to the table.

“No, no, please no, please no, stop, just, no, please,” she’s mumbling, and you hold up the tweezers, “ _pleaseplease, no, godstopnopleaseplease, mercy, pleasehavemercy!”_

It’s like peeling the skin off a grape.

“I’ll talk! I’ll do whatever you want! Just stop!” Her voice is ragged from yelling and one eye is rapidly clogging with blood. Your auditory canals hurt from the noise she produced; it was too animalistic to be a scream, more like the sound Tavros’ fairies make when he rips their wings off. Perhaps eyelids are the troll equivalent.

“What’s your name?”

“Dianon Freyed, I’m seven sweeps old, please, I just want my lusus.”

“Your lusus is probably dead. What’s your job?”

“I do intelligence work, I spy, I’m a spy okay?”

“Which member of Alpha were you employed by?”

“One, one of the carapaces, but I’m a mole, I’m double dealing, I’ll tell you anything you want just please no more!”

Oh. Things just got interesting.

When you’re done, you sit on her lap and press your hands over her nose and mouth. She struggles at first, but quiets, and when she stops moving entirely you wipe the mixture of tears and blood off your fingers onto the front of her shirt and turn the recording device off.

The aftermath of an interrogation is the worst part. Your skin feels itchy from her screams and the room smells like despair. If you stop for too long you find yourself wallowing, justifying every little thing you did, second guessing each action and wondering if you’re a terrible person.

Of course you are. You all are, every single one of you, and it is with this thought you stick your head into the corridor and yell for Gamzee. He appears out of the shadows like a wraith, the gentle smile the fairy dust gives him tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What a pretty little mess you’ve made here, Terezi,” he breathes, licking a long line from the base of her neck to her hairline. You roll your eyes.

“Does Kanaya want any, or are we good to go?”

“After that last heist, she is good for the next twenty motherfucking years.” There’s the slick sound of him pulling the nails out her hands, then the tinkle of them being dropped in his pocket. You wonder if he’s got any spells for them or if he just plans on sucking on them like candy. You’ve heard that the nails from a tortured corpse are pretty powerful curse objects, particularly in voodoo, but then he sucks a drop of blood off his thumb and your question is answered.

“Care if I join you, Mr Makara? I’ve been inside for far too long- I need some fresh air.” He grins, slow and wide, and hefts the body over one shoulder.

“Ain’t no fresh air where we’re going, Teresis, but if you don’t mind the smell of motherfucking blasphemy then I suppose we’re good.” You purse your lips and nod, and his grin widens impossibly; you follow him down the corridor, listening to him whistle some [ghastly tune](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71fZhMXlGT4) and wondering if dulling your mind would be worth it for his perpetual cheer and calm.

Blasphemy smells like smoke, apparently.

Thick, acrid smoke that sends you reeling, coughing and spluttering and unsure of where everything is. There’s the sound of heavy machinery in the background, and Gamzee’s quiet chuckle at your obvious discomfort, but apart from that you’re blind, sightless in every sense of the word. You cling on to him and you hate yourself for it.

“What is this place?” It’s barely intelligible between your hacking gasps, but he understands.

“Iron refinery. They burn shit to get it crazy hot and then they turn rocks into metal. Motherfucking miracles, hey, Teresis?”

“You’re a complete idiot in every sense of the word, Mr Makara.” He’s not- you know how iron is extracted, and you know that there will not be a trace of the body left once it has been put in that furnace. It’s a clever spot, and this tempered intelligence frustrates you beyond belief.

“It ain’t my business to be knowing what them rocks is about; I just dump the corpses where I see fit, and I reckon this one is going to make a swordsman very happy.” There is a dull thud far below you, and the smell of mustard wafts up. You turn away from the railings.

You’ve barely been in the car for ten minutes on the way back when he pulls over and sinks his teeth roughly into your lips. You kiss until your mouths are bloody, a mix of teal and indigo that smells a little like candy and a lot like loathing. Wandering hands scratch and pull and pinch; when you finally make it back, Karkat takes one look at you, snatches the recording away, and stalks off, rubbing furiously at his temples. You make sure your snickers follow him out, then go to wash off the rainbow of blood that paints your skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel that anyone was OOC, drop me a line- it's my first time writing a lot of these characters, and I'm just sort of hoping I'm not messing it up too badly.  
> As always, if you feel this work needs any additional warnings/tags, do not hesitate to leave a comment or message me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've always wanted to see a fairy

** == > Rose: Indulge in harmless experimentation **

You purse your lips, running your fingers over the surface of the omniball. It’s so impossibly smooth, like running your fingers over ether, and it fills you with the same gut-wrenching anticipation felt at the crest of a rollercoaster’s climb.

_A legendary weapon is probably the only thing that’ll cut it, not unless you got a lot a juice in your punch._

You think of how easily Dave pinned you, hand around your throat. You think of fish-oil breath in your face, and the easy confidence that shone in Vriska’s eyes when she looked at you. You think of how useless a potion is when faced with real danger.

You are tired of feeling overpowered and you are tired of being defenceless.

“Do I have the capability to perform non-corporeal magic?” Looking into the ball is like inhaling cold fog; your lungs feel tight, almost like you want to cough, and it leaves a metallic flavour in your mouth.

“How do I channel that capability?”

This time, instead of appearing on the small floating triangle, the answer rings through your mind. It’s a list of ingredients and the recipe to mix them up, and you quickly grab your pen to scribble it down before it fades. You then read it back over, frowning slightly- it’s not like any magic you’ve tried before, and a lot of these ingredients are going to be difficult if not impossible to get.

A sharp knock at the door snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Hello Miss Tangy Lavender,” calls the troll as she enters, and it takes all your self control not to gasp out loud.

“ _You!”_

“Yes, Miss Skaian Sunrise?”

“You’re... _here,_ why are _you **here**?”_ She gives a familiar, predatory grin, and all at once you are calm again, settling back into the chair from where you had half risen from her entrance. “Hello again, Terezi. I suppose I should have seen this coming?”

“Perhaps we hired the wrong seer!” she says with a cackle, leaning past you to lick a long strip up the recipe sheet. “Valkyrie claws... I think Miss Green Springtime has a stuffed Valkyrie in her office... there’ll be plenty of portal residue next to the tunnel, have a consort fetch it... nakkadil blood, again the consorts... bones of time, you’ll have to talk to the coolkid for that... _ooh,_ fairy hair! Mr Cinnamon Swirl has plenty!”

“You do realise I have no idea who any of these people are, right?” She slumps onto the chair opposite you with a flippant wave of her claw.

“Jade Harley, your human dancestor Dave, and Tavros, all of whom I believe you’ve already met. But I’m not here to talk to you about procuring your ingredients, delicious as they will be. I come with a warning.”

“I’m disappointed,” you retort. “I had hoped that we would be sifting through fond memories together. Our initial meeting, that glorious week you remained with me and covered every inch of my humble abode with your teal tinted saliva, the heartfelt farewell. We could have analysed them, and the resulting mistrust that will no doubt layer our future relationships due to your initial deception.”

“You’re definitely Dave’s dancestor,” she mutters, and what does that word even mean? You scowl and she smirks before all traces of humour dissiapate like the morning mist. “I’m a seer of mind, Rose. The choices of you and everyone around us are laid out before me like a giant spider web. It’s too far stretching for me to smell the consequences of your actions, but I’m warning you now, seer to seer: you are walking a dangerous path.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” You ask, and she _growls_ , shoving both the omniball and the recipe roughly towards you.

“I have seen better trolls than you- humans, beings, I don’t care- fall into Mr Milkshake’s trap, and I am trying to stop it from happening again.” Her teeth are bared, blank red eyes glittering where the ever-present glasses have slipped, and she looks desperate. “I’m not saying don’t use it at all, but I am telling you to be careful on the path you walk.”

“I’ll do my best not to trip.” Your voice comes out cold, and she flips a switch to furious, on her feet and leaning over you threateningly.

“I am an emissary of the law, Miss Human Bruise. If your actions lead to the harm of anyone I am dear to, I will hunt you down and I will bring you to justice.”

“I was reading some of the old memos last night,” and you are too annoyed to feel intimidated, familiar enough with Terezi to know that she won’t make good on that threat. You know her love for regulation, and for now at least you are protected by the rules of the organisation. “I would be fascinated to talk through your definition of justice.”

“Watch your fucking step, _seer,_ ” is her only reply, and with a snarl she stalks out the room.

That definitely could have gone better.

With a frustrated sigh you rub at your face, grimacing at the smear of ink that was your recipe. It doesn’t matter- it’s like the instructions have been engraved on your brain. You could write it out word for word if you felt the need.

Instead, you push yourself to your feet, trying not to fume. Perhaps once you have access to non-corporeal magic people will stop thinking it’s okay to try to threaten you; that’s gotten old real fast. Captchaloguing the omniball, you decide to find Tavros first.

You’ve always wanted to see a fairy.

 

* * *

 

** == > Karkat: Deal with it **

“Are you sure?” Kanaya nods, grim faced, and you resist the urge to slam your head into the desk in front of you. Instead, you take another look at the photos she’s spread out, grimacing. “Who found them?”

“A carapace under Nepeta. They were keeping watch for Vriska and Aradia, and stumbled upon the sight.” Yeah, you can see the ugly ass fountain that takes pride of place on Alpha’s grounds in the background. In the foreground, three mutilated bodies lie in a multihued heap.

“Well that’s just fucking great. Is his head ripped off? His head is ripped off. Who even does that?”

“As far as I’m aware, it would have to be the highest level of carapace, a member of the monarchy, to achieve that. A human wouldn’t have a chance. As for trolls, well, perhaps an older sea-dweller, but there have been none sighted in the area. That or Horuss, but I highly doubt it considering...”

“Considering he’s fucking whipped. So you have no idea what could have done it?” She hesitates and you lean forward, voice urgent. “Kanaya, if you have even the left toenail clipping of a guess’s descendant, you need to spill those beans like they insulted your horns. These are members of Alpha; it could be us next.”

“It’s completely impossible” she replies, voice low. “But it reminds me of... of descriptions I have read in books, and heard from Eridan. Of the sort of damage caused by born-again angels.”

“Fuck.”

“Karkat, it can’t be angels.” Her voice is placating, but her eyes shine with worry. “They’re trapped in the third realm, there’s no way for them to come to us, it has to be something else.” You stop and look to your husktop screen, where your finished memo sits, waiting to be printed. They’re sent out every two weeks to all FRAF members, and highlight recent events that people should be aware of. One of these events is the arrival of Rose; another is yesterday’s meeting.

“Angel blood,” you say softly, and Kanaya’s eyes go very wide. “It... it, fuck, it kick-starts your adrenaline production, take enough and you’d be stronger than a cholerbear.”

“This is bad,” she says.

“No fucking kidding.” You rake your claws through your hair and sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, tell Equius to amp up the security. At least tenfold. Any unregistered people on the property are to be shot on sight, do you hear me? Gamzee is off everything-“

“ _Everything?_ ” she cuts in, and you pause. No, not everything- you don’t want him sober.

“Everything but fairy dust. Not even Faygo, okay? Actually, you know what, I’ll tell him that. God, but I need a fucking feelings jam. Once we’re finished with English I need Serket and Megido sent to me, the troll that Terezi got earlier was double dealing Alpha for another gang.”

“Idiot.”

“Fucking tell me about it. Oh yeah, tell Lalonde that she’s coming to the drop off- I want her to see exactly how repugnant those cretins she calls dancestors are so that she can stop fucking moping about it. I’ll find Harley before we talk to English and get her strengthen the wards.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah; you’re not a complete waste of oxygen, even if I’m not entirely sure you actually breathe, and I thank you from the bottom of my shrivelled black heart for keeping me sane through times like these. Tell you what, if we reach the fucking hot season and we’re still alive, you can have a jar of my blood.” She gives you a demure smile, all cheekbones and green lipstick.

“I find you not entirely terrible as well. Now go find your moirail, you look like something Nepeta dragged in. Oh, and Karkat?” You pause. “Stay safe. We can’t afford to lose you.”

“Don’t worry your fangs about it; the universe hasn’t finished completely fucking me over yet.”

* * *

 

** == > Rose: Procure fairy hair **

You stop outside the door and double check the number- 88, just as the consort said. From inside there is the muffled thrum of club music and the occasional whoop or cheer. Rather than knocking, you push the door open a crack and peer in.

The light spills into the room, but none of the occupants seem to notice. It’s a fairly large room, walls and carpets a nondescript cream and empty safe for a cracked leather sofa pushed against one wall and a set of speakers in the corner.

In the middle of the room, two male trolls and a dersite stand in varying states of undress, dancing and twisting and grinding against each other in time to the music. Aradia and Vriska are draped over the sofa, watching through hooded eyes, bottles of alcohol strewn between them. One of the trolls, already shirtless, slips his jeans down and kicks them away. Aradia whoops and throws a boondollar at him- he catches it, winks, and slips it into his troll boxers.

You feel extremely uncomfortable, and are about to leave when you catch sight of Tavros, sat on the floor next to the sofa, hidden in shadow. Shutting the door behind you, you make your way over, trying not catch the attention of anyone else lest this somehow escalate.

He’s doing sums in a book, head bent low over the page, and when he catches sight of you and sits up you see there’s a smudge of graphite on his nose. You’re not quite sure which one of you looks more perturbed by your surroundings.

“Hello again, Tavros. Would it be okay if I steal a moment of your time?”

“You can steal as much as you, uh, need. Why are you... here?” He glances at the undulating group and wrinkles his nose.

“I need some ingredients for one of my potions, and was told that you can help me. I can always come back at another time if that would be more convenient?” With pursed lips he looks from the group to the girls, who are mostly silent save for the occasional whoop or catcall.

“As much as I would like to, remove myself, from this situation, I can’t.”

“I assume this is why rule six exists?”

“This is exactly why rule six exists.”

Suddenly the door swings open, and the silhouette of a stocky troll is just visible against the harsh light of the corridor. Everyone in the room winces, and he flushes a deep cerulean.

“I was visited by Aradia from tomorrow. She said that you had need of me?” Tavros nods, mechanical legs whirring as he pushes himself to his feet.

“Equius, yes I, uh, do.” You can see him school his features into a stern expression. “I need to help Rose, so you need to watch these two.”

“Very... very well,” Equius manages to stammer out. Holy shit, there is suddenly sweat pouring down his face; you are too grossed out to seize this fact with your usual gleeful abandon. He walks to the sofa, most likely to stand vigil over it, but Vriska grabs him and pulls him down and Aradia sinks a bite into his shoulder that makes him yelp. You and Tavros abscond quickly.

“Will he be alright in there?” you ask once the door has shut behind you. Tavros shrugs.

“I really, don’t actually care. But what things do you need? Because I would have thought that, well, Jade would be a better person for stuff like potion ingredients.”

“She’s on my list, but this relates more to you: is there any chance you have any fairy hair?” He stares, nonplussed, before blinking and snapping out of it.

“Fairy hair? Well, I have the fairies. You can come, uh, take some hair from them. Any particular... type?”

“Preferably from ice or iron, if possible.” He grimaces and begins to walk away. You follow him through the corridors and resolve to have someone draw out an actually legible map, even if you can only study it for a few minutes. It doesn’t help that large sections of building look exactly the same.

“Of course it would be, the most violent type. No one ever wants, anything from the petal fairies.” He stops outside a door with an oddly ornate handle. “You may want to, well, cover your ears.” You raise an eyebrow but oblige, clapping your hands over your ears as he twists an old fashioned key in the slot and pushes the door open.

The noise is terrible, the screams of the fairies rising in a cacophonous symphony over the sound of cages being rattled, tiny fists and feet kicking against their wire prisons. The smell is almost as bad; it’s cloying and sickly sweet, like rotting fruit, with a rough cut of iron that stings at your nose. You recognise it from the apothecary- it’s the smell of fairy blood.

They look dreadful, eyes wild with anger and hatred, hair long and matted. Some are huddled in their cages, stumps where their wings once were dribbling blood and pus. Most face you, baring their teeth and howling. There are deep scratches gouged into their skin, gnarled nails crusted with dried blood. They are mad, frenzied, but at a sharp glare from Tavros the noise quiets, and do troll eyes naturally glow in dim light? You can’t remember. Regardless, the fairies sink back down to the bottom of their cages, still hissing softly.

You feel queasy.

“I have an ice fairy, down here, with quite a lot of hair. I don’t, well, know how much you want?”

“No more than a few strands, but perhaps I should take a head for future use- a head of hair, I mean, not an entire head.”In this environment, you believe it’s a necessary distinction to make.

 The ice fairy is down at the end, and while he pulls on his gloves you inspect the cages. They’re a fine mesh, just tall enough for a fairy to stand up straight in, and slightly longer than they are tall. With every movement that a fairy makes, glittering powder drops from it, through the mesh and into tray below. Tavros notices you looking.

“Fairy dust; it’s a natural relaxant. I think it’s similar to that human drug called, uh, weed? Except more addictive.”

“And the wings?”

“Strongest natural hallucinogen in any of the three dimensions, that we know of. Is this good?” He indicates a pale grey fairy, which growls when you look.

“Yes, that looks like plenty.”

Almost quicker than your eyes can follow, he opens the cage and grabs the fairy. It immediately begins to scream, and that makes the others start again too. You realise he was probably using some form of psychic powers to keep them quiet before. It would explain the eyes.

With one hand he pins it down on top of the cage, pinkie finger between wing stubs that look like they’re just beginning to grow back, thumbs pressing on its ankles. It howls and struggles, but with one slick slice of a pair of scissors he pulled out his pocket the bird’s nest of hair is detached. He quickly shoves it back in its cage, slamming the door and giving the front a hard smack for good measure. Slowly the screaming dies down. He holds the hair out to you.

“Here you go. If you need any more, uh, just find me. I know that they sometimes use the bones, and the blood, in potions, so it’ll save you a trip to the apothecary.” You restrain a grimace as you pocket the clump of hair, smiling at him instead. “In fact, if you uh, come with me to my desk, you can have a set, of keys. Then you can get it, yourself, and not have to rely on me.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you say, following him back through the corridors and to an area that seems a bit like an office block, with several desks and a pot plant in one corner. As he begins to rifle through the drawers, looking for a spare set, your eyes fall to an open file on the desktop. Curiosity piqued, you begin to read it upside down.

_Name: Fairy Dust_

_Chemical Name: Celestane Fae_

_Active ingredient:_ _delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol_

_Added Ingredients: Sucrose, Acroline, Cadmium, Polonium-210, Propanalol-_ The list continues for almost half the page.

_Effects: Increased production of dopamine, serotonin and cortisol over several days, calmness, lack of coordination, short term memory loss, disorientation-_

“Here you are,” he says, handing you a comically oversized key before glancing down at the desk. “Oh, Jade and I are trying to document, scientifically, all the drugs, because a lot isn’t known, about a lot of them, and we feel that’s unsafe.”

“The drug dealer feels that it’s unsafe?” You repeat dryly, and he blushes.

“No, I’m just the, producer. John and Kanaya are in charge of actually selling it.”

“Ah. Well, that clear’s everything up.” You give him your best smile, and are rewarded with much incoherent stuttering. “Thank you very much for your time, Tavros. I’ll see you around.”


	5. Dealing with siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jade and Rose both have to deal with their obnoxious siblings. It goes far better for one than the other.

** == > Jade: Deal with your sibling **

“Jade, may I have a word with you please?”

“Sorry Rose, I’d love to talk, but I have to go deal with my...” You pause, unwilling to admit it. “Brother.” Ugh.

“I just need to ask you about your stuffed valkyries.”

“What about them?” She takes a nervous step back as you open your rifle, checking to make sure it’s loaded before flicking the safety on. Don’t want to accidentally shoot a consort!

“Could I have their claws for one of my potions?”

“Ooh, look at you! I thought I was supposed to be the witch!” You grab the case file before turning to her. “You can have the whole thing if you want, and then after we’re done with Jake you and I are going into town, and we are going to talk! Because I barely know you, and that’s got to change. We can invite Dave and John along too! Have you met John yet?” She blinks, nonplussed.

“I don’t see why we can’t. And no, I haven’t met anyone called John yet.”

“He’s my cousin. He’s a doofus- you’ll love him!” The clock stares at you accusingly, and with a final curse and a quick “I’ll find you later!” to Rose, you hurry out the room.

Karkat is waiting for you outside the door to the interrogation room, arms crossed and foot tapping an angry little rhythm. Further down the corridor, Kanaya treats you to a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile.

“Nice to see you, Harley; what’s the rush? It isn’t like I have better uses for my time than to sit around waiting on you like you’re the Condesce herself and I’m the Psiionic.”

“Do I really have to do this?”

“You know the rules; if we’re going too far, it’s your job to stop it. They’ll do the same if you ever get caught.” You give him your best pouty face, but he remains stoic, so you scowl back instead.

“I can manipulate the fabric of space itself, I’m not going to get caught.”

“You once fused your soul with a dog’s for a week because you sneezed in the middle of a spell.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Not until you stop bitching about baby-sitting duties.”

“Ha. Ha ha. You’re so punny. Tell me, how much use was Kankri when you were caught?” Kanaya is watching this all with the expectant air of someone who really wishes they had popcorn, or grub-crunches or whatever, to snack on while they enjoy the show.

“They used him as the fucking method of torture, is how useful he was. They let him lecture me for three hours on why it was problematic that we hire more black carapaces than white; it’s not like we fucking peddle drugs or develop ever better ways to paint the walls with each other’s grey matter. Clearly the problem is our inherent racism.” You giggle and he glares. “Into the room, Harley, or you’ll be spending the next three months polishing Ampora’s rifles.” With a grimace you go in, Karkat and Kanaya close behind.

Jake gives you a buck-toothed grin from where he’s sat, tied to the chair. He’s sporting a black eye that was probably from Vriska’s robot arm, and on his arm whip lashes are still seeping blood.

“Well, about bloody time you showed up! I have more to do in life than to hang around waiting for my little sister and her friends to get their acts together.” There’s no need to look sideways to know that Karkat’s expression mirrors yours perfectly- flat, pissed off, and filled with enough disdain to crush a bear.

“I would say that I do not believe you understand the situation you’re in, but considering that you have already been tied to this very chair thrice before and know what is to come, I may have to conclude that you’re simply an imbecile,” says Kanaya, giving her two pence. He snorts.

“What’s a few broken ribs between friends? We’re all tortfeasors here, even darling little sister over there.” You glare, already feeling a migraine coming on from that stupid, fake accent. That had been the final nail in his coffin, as far as you were considered- the fact that as soon as he joined a gang he felt the need to start talking like a Chicago monster. As if he wasn’t already insufferable enough, he had to go parading around like some sort of idiotic Al Capone. Your glare deepens, and you wonder if Karkat would authorise a kidnapping where you just leave him in Alcatraz for a few weeks. It’s not like he would be able to get out- your brother may be almost as powerful as you, but he can’t actually use any of it unless someone is mind controlling him.

God, he is actually _pathetic._

“Besides,” he’s still talking, “it’s not like Terezi’s even around. What are the rest of you going to do? Shrink me? Drink my blood?” You pull out your gun and shoot him through the foot.

“I should really reprimand you for that,” says Karkat over the sound of Jake’s panicked shrieks.

“Are you going to?”

“Like fuck I am.”

** == > Rose: Talk to Dave **

The door beeps as it rejects your key code a third time and your frown deepens. As far as you were aware, as a FRAF member you had access to everywhere except the private chambers of other FRAF members. With a sigh, you push the ‘request entry’ button instead.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“What on earth happened to your shirt?”

“This?” He looks down at the plain red shirt, covered in dust and bright patches of colour, as well as what appears to be chunks of pumpkin. “Nah man, this is normal. I’ve got so much cool, there isn’t room for it all. I secrete chill like a snail, leaving a trail of awesome wherever I go. You’re welcome.” There is a pause, and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, leaving a powdery red patch. “Do you wanna come in?”

“You should have told me,” you say as the door swishes shut behind you. He grimaces and opens his mouth. “No, don’t. I want you to know that you should have told me. However, I understand that it’s a difficult subject to broach and that I am not the most approachable person, particularly under the less than favourable conditions in which we met. I bear you no ill will.”

“Cool,” he says, and you follow him down the corridor. “Because it would really suck if you hated all of your news siblings. You’d be like a female Karkat, and we’ve already got Jade to fill that role. The universe would fucking implode from the amount of raw ire, like we’re all miners digging for natural anger, only we dug too deep and caused a cave in and died from our own hubris.”

“Really? I met her at the meeting, and earlier today, and she seemed to be possibly the most level headed person in this enterprise, save perhaps Kanaya.”

“Kanaya is a lie. She seems calm, but if you push her too far she will murder your ass. I’ve seen her saw people in half before, like a magician who missed that the whole point is that you don’t actually saw people in half. Jade, though; Jade’s just crazy. She drinks soy sauce.”

“Drinks soy sauce?”

“Yeah, just chugs bottles of it. It’s the salt in it.” He feigns a deeps sigh, placing a hand over his chest. “Addiction is a powerful thing.”

You are both stopped outside a door; it is the only door in the entirety of the impressive length of corridor. Unlike other doors in the building, it is completely plain- not electric or numbered, no key hole or code pad by the side; there isn’t even a handle. For a moment you both just stand there staring at each other.

“Are you planning on opening the door, or have you decided that this is an adequate place to hold a conversation?” Even from behind his shades, he’s giving you a very strange look, and you resist the urge to shift uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” he says after a long moment. “Yeah, no, we’re going in the room. We’re doing this, Rose. We’re making this happen.”

The room beyond feels more like a classroom in a kindergarten than a top security room in an illegal organisation that even the highest level of clearance can’t get you access to. Although, perhaps Karkat could override the code. These aren’t Dave’s private quarters, so you don’t really know what the rules are regarding this.

The walls are a vibrant blue, meticulously painted clouds spread over them in fluffy whorls. Over this, crayon drawings on sugar paper have been stuck up with tape. Brightly coloured toys are pushed into the corners in heaps, and beanbags litter the room.

“Here,” he says, passing something over to you. “You’ll need this.”

The entire centre of the room is taken up with a shambolic mass of what looks like junk, but at a second glance you realise there is a pattern to it. Cans are piled high, various objects placed on top of them, and between the piles are toy cars, plastic trees and Barbie dolls, both troll and human. The ground is covered in chalk drawings of roads and more flora, and pieces of paper stuck to stacks explain what they are- Town Hall, Telephone Tower, Jail, Bakery. When you look down, you see you are clutching a can of Heinz Original Baked Beans.

“WV?” Dave calls, stepping out into the room. “Hey WV, I’m back. I told you I’d be back quickly, didn’t I?” From behind the ‘Celebrity Block Of Flats (and daves awesome crib)’ peers a carapace.

Suddenly nothing makes sense.

Dave’s voice is gentle as he continues, stretching a hand out to the dersite. “See. I’m back already. And I brought a friend. This is Rose; she’s my sister.” It creeps forward, slowly, putting a hand on each precarious structure as though for support. “She’s not here to hurt you. She actually brought a present- look!” You take this as your cue, and hold out the can, offering what you hope is a reassuring smile.

There is a long pause while its eyes flick from the can to you to Dave and back again. Then it leans forward, and with a sharp movement that makes you flinch slightly, snatches the can out of your hands. It inspects it closely, looks back up at you, and then does a happy little jig. Your smile widens.

“Rose, this is the Mayor. Mayor, this is Rose.” The mayor gives you a quick nod before scampering away to carefully balance the beans atop the town hall. “So what do you think of Can Town?”

“If I had had to devise a list beforehand of things I didn’t expect to happen, this wouldn’t even have made the list.” You watch as the Mayor crouches down to peer eye to eye with a scalemate, gesturing as though holding a conversation. “However, it’s impressive- even if it does blatantly flout every known law of physics.”

“Knowing a witch of space is useful when committing a crime in quantum city.”

“Pity that these misdemeanours are occurring in the Town of Relativity.”

“It all falls under the same individual’s jurisdiction. Luckily, the Mayor isn’t above using the imperial coffers to bribe his Honourable Tyranny into letting me walk free. Terezi keeps threatening to bring him to justice, but the mayor is very persuasive. Justice is blind, but it can still taste the ‘delicious hue of red chalk.’” The Mayor picks up the scalemate and carries it over to the prison, where he proceeds to scribble out a note reading ‘ _awaiting trial_ ’ to stick to its head.

“Dave, why do you have a large playroom with a carapace?”

He sighs and pushes his sunglasses up onto his forehead and again you feel a jolt at the bright red eyes. You both go to sit down on a pair of beanbags, sinking down in an ungainly mess of limbs with a soft _fooosh_.

“Carapaces are really progressive in a lot of things. Like, they have no problem with sexuality, little kiddie carapaces choose their own pronouns, stuff like that. But when it comes to stuff like mental illness, they’re like fucking medieval peasants- all set to tie them up and pelt them with rotten fruit.”

“Oh,” you say softly. You’re not quite sure what else you can say.

“So I was at a carnival one day, and there’s a freak show. It’s got all the usual stuff- bearded lady, troll with nipples, that sort of thing. And then I reach the last exhibit, and there’s the Mayor in the middle of this ring, and he’s half naked and he’s terrified, Rose, he’s actually fucking terrified. Because they’re selling these, like, cherry bomb things, five for a boondollar, and people are throwing them, they’re exploding all around him; he’s running around in circles, everyone is laughing and jeering, and them someone gets him with a can of drink and completely soaks him, and I just see red.”

You try to picture it- think about similar scenes you’re read in your fantasy books and in historical novels, the cruelty that was shown, and you can why understand Dave reacted the way he did.

“So I jump into the pit and I pull out my sword, and I tell them ‘Throw one more cherry bomb and we can turn this into a lesson on xenobiology.’ They all freeze, just stop and stare at me. I grab the Mayor and I bring him back here and Karkat gives us this sweet dig.”

“Just like that?”

“You can’t say no to the Mayor, Rose; you’d have to have a heart of fucking stone. Even Eridan, and I quote, ‘does not hold him in complete contempt.’ Guy is impossible to dislike.”

“Is he actually mentally disabled?”

“Yeah; I don’t really know a lot about it, but Nepeta says that he’s autistic, like really severe.” He gives you a sharp look. “But I don’t want you prying. He’s not some toy you can just dissect for your own amusement, okay?”

“You don’t need to worry about me; I completely respect his right to privacy.” The Mayor now seems to be mediating an argument between a Barbie and a Her Imperial Condescension plush toy (now with 80% more hair!). “You obviously care very deeply for him.”

“Well, god, of course I do. It’s like... we’re like best bros. And I gotta look out for him. Gotta make sure nothing happens to him again.”

“It’s a beautiful thing, this troll disease called Moirallegiance.”

“Shut your face, Lalonde.” The Mayor bounds over, clutching a bright orange pumpkin to his chest. “Hey; cool pumpkin, man. You still hungry?” He stuffs the pumpkin under his cloak and gives an elaborate shrug, turning to you.

“Pumpkin? Dave, what pumpkin? I am quite sure there has never been a pumpkin here.” The Mayor grins widely and does another little jig, before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper, shoving it into your hand and running off. You smile at the swirly drawing before glancing at Dave, who is looking at you oddly again. “What?”

“Not bad, Lalonde. Not bad at all.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, if you want to leave a comment I would really appreciate some feedback! #shoutintothevoid #ishouldleavethehashtagstodave  
> Also, if you have any concerns with anything- like tags or characterisation- feel free to drop me a message; I don't want anyone uncomfortable because they're too polite to say something.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by chocolate, old Britney Spears music, and the stubborn belief that if you ignore the writer's block then it isn't really there.

** ==> Jade: Continue dealing with sibling **

  
God, does it never end?

  
“You shot me,” Jake repeats for at least the fourth time, tone having come down from the original outrage of the first exclamation and now nothing more than a whine. “You’re supposed to be my protector, Jade, and you shot me.”

  
“I was protecting you, fuckass,” you snap, rounding on him with a glare. “Seeing as if you’d said another word Karkat would probably have torn your throat out. And I’ll do it again if you don’t answer the fucking question!”

  
“Why should I? I don’t see anything in it for me.”

  
“How about keeping your remaining appendages lead free, nookwipe, and your blood inside your own body rather than rapidly descending down Kanaya’s protein chute.” Kanaya wrinkles her nose in a ‘gross, I would never touch his blood’ way, but Jake’s attention is too focused on Karkat to notice.

  
“You’ve asked me so many questions in the last half hour, it’s hardly fair to expect me to remember them all.”

  
“Yes, hardly fair to assume that you have more than three working brain cells in that congealed mass of sheer idiocy currently residing between your ears. Let’s start at the beginning, like this whole process wasn’t painful enough the first time around. Is Alpha producing the Angel Blood?” Jake hesitates, a determined set to his lips, but you cock your gun and point it at his other foot and his resolve quickly crumbles.

  
“We don’t know; we thought it was you at first, you or maybe the Miles, but the Miles hadn’t the foggiest and obviously you don’t either, so we’re completely stumped as well.” You fire a warning shot into the ground between his legs at the same time that Karkat snarls

  
“Bullshit!”

  
“Okay!” he yelps, flinching away from the smoking hole. “We have a name, they say he’s called Lord English, but that’s all I know, I swear!” You cock your gun, ready for another shot- this time as close to his crotch as you can, just to make him cry- when Kanaya holds up a hand. Both you and Karkat pause, and she saunters forward, sliding into his lap. He goes rigid, shooting you a panicked look; you just sneer back.

  
“We have it within our power to make this extremely unpleasant for you,” she says in his ear, voice almost too low to hear. “I’m sure you’ve seen the bodies we’ve sent back before; and unfortunately, you’re a terrible liar.” Her lips brush the shell of his outer ear, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen such a look of fear on another human being’s face. “So tell us the truth... or we start cutting.” You have to smother down a grin- so that's what all those teas with Porrim were about.

  
“He’s a cherub,” Jake exhales in a shaky rush. “He’s been kidnapping members of the Felt to weaken us, and he’s been building an army.”

  
“Army of what?” She asks. You lean forward in your seat, and Jake’s eyes flick to the gun before focusing back on her.

  
“Junkies. At the moment just junkies, but he’s finding a way to bring angels into the second realm, and then he’ll have a real army.”

  
“Impossible,” snaps Karkat. “Angels are trapped in the third realm; everyone knows that, it’s why we’re all still breathing, and not all smoking piles of cinders on the fucking ground.”

  
“Not for long.” Jake’s voice is rising, reaching borderline hysterical. “It’s something to do with the leprechauns, something to do with how they cross the realms. I don’t know how, but once he has the Felt he’ll be able to bring them through.”

  
“He can’t be that powerful,” you point out, all eyes snapping to you. “We’d have heard if there were an ascended cherub on the loose- from what Eridan says, they’d be pretty impossible to miss! We just need to talk to Calliope and find a way of clamping down; if she’s a cherub, she’ll know what can be done, right?” Karkat and Kanaya turn to look back at Jake, who’s gulping in mouthfuls of air like the atmosphere of the room is choking him.

  
“Calliope is dead,” he manages to gasp out. “Lord English is her brother!”

 

** ==> Rose: Complete potion **

  
The pot simmers, and as the second hand crosses the three minute mark the liquid inside flips from a spring green to a deep violet. You sigh, leaning back in your chair and wiping a hand over your sweaty brow; that was the last step. It’s finished.

  
Unfortunately, the instructions aren’t clear on what to do next. And by unclear, you don’t mean annoyingly vague; you mean that they do not exist.

  
Consulting the Omni-ball gets you nowhere, the little plastic triangle showing a scathing _Figure it out yourself!_ In previous potions, to get the desired result one either had to ingest it or apply it topically. However, the three burnt through spoons lined up next to the pot make you hesitant to try without some idea of what will happen if you do.  
A quick rummage through your sylladex turns up no more spoons, only an old copy of Pride and Prejudice and some linty candy. You do not want to consider how long that's been there, and instead pull the knitting needles out of your strife specibus. While not perfect, they are at least long and metal, and so will have to do.

  
You flip them so that the little tab at the end, displaying the brand and needle size, faces down, and position them next to each other for the maximum surface area. As they dip into the potion, a jolt of... something shoots up your arm and you recoil with a gasp, dropping them in.

  
“Shit,” you mutter as the potion brings itself back up to a full boil. “Shit, shit, shit.” You can find a more articulate way to berate your foolhardiness later. At the moment you’re focussed on pushing your chair away and leaning back, trying to keep the thick grey vapour that’s pouring out away from your face. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  
With a final belch, it stills; the vapour dissipated, and you hesitantly peer in.

  
At the bottom of the cauldron, winking dully up at you, lie what once were a very good pair of knitting needles. You suppose you could still use them to knit, in the same way an indifferent billionaire might use an antique crystal vase to play baseball. Howlite skulls have replaced where the tabs were- are those skulls? They look almost like the squiddles you used to play with as a very young child. Deep purple and black stripes curl around the actual needle part, and you allow yourself a smirk; you can definitely make a fashion theme out of these.

  
Reaching into the pot, you tentatively grasp them, relaxing when no more jolts run through you. Instead a voice echoes in your head, the same voice you hear when your omni-ball decides to bypass plastic triangles and communicate with you directly.

  
_Thorns of Olgogath_

  
Your smirk widens into a grin as you point one of the Thorns at the table; the pot is decimated in a crackle of blazing white light. It reminds you of when you were younger, and shown a ribbon of burning magnesium to demonstrate oxidation. Instead of wincing and looking away, however, your eyes remain fixed, even after the magic fades. It leaves the faint smell of phosphorous. You repeat with the table, and then get up and destroy the chair. A thrill of power runs through you and you let out a gasp of breathless laughter.  
Oh yes. You could definitely get used to this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are currently wedged in the back seat of an ancient Ford Fiesta, with Dave on one side and a softly growling Karkat on the other. Terezi grins at all of you in the rear view mirror, while a clown troll named Gamzee, who is Karkat’s moirail, twists down the pothole ridden road. You are pretty sure he is driving stoned.

** == > Rose: Reunite with long lost siblings **

You are currently wedged in the back seat of an ancient Ford Fiesta, with Dave on one side and a softly growling Karkat on the other. Terezi grins at all of you in the rear view mirror, while a clown troll named Gamzee, who is Karkat’s moirail, twists down the pothole ridden road. You are pretty sure he is driving stoned.

“Shoosh, best friend,” he says, smiling over his shoulder. What looks like a wild boar darts into the road, and he swerves around it without even looking. No one else seems phased, so you school your expression into one of neutrality, holding Terezi’s gaze when your eyes meet.

Yes, you fully understand the absurdity of staring down a blind girl.

“No need to worry, Miss Lavender,” she says finally, and her grin shows off every pointed tooth. “Mr Sour Grape here is the best driver in the second realm, save for Mr Cinnamon.” She emphasizes this with a sharp punch to his shoulder, causing the car to wobble and said best driver to snarl.

“I wasn’t concerned.” You keep your tone level. “I was just wondering: why is Karkat in the back with us peasants while you merrily sit shotgun?”

“Woah, Rose, what you’re suggesting is all kinds of illegal,” says Dave, and Terezi’s grin widens. “It doesn’t matter if we’re in a magical alternate dimension, the law remains the same- minors aren’t allowed in the front.”

“Oh fuck you,” Karkat snarls. “And to answer your question, Lalonde, no, I will not answer your fucking question because I am the leader and I owe you a metric fucktonne of jack shit!”

Should you do it? Should you do it?

You do it.

“Odd. If I remember correctly, the rules I was shown- rule five in particular- implicitly state that you have to disclose your actions and reasons behind them if questioned by a FRAF member. I am still a FRAF member, are I not?” Terezi _cackles_ and Gamzee is laughing so hard he almost drives off the road and even Dave is smirking. Karkat looks nigh apoplectic with rage, but you’ve got him beat and he knows it.

“She rides shotgun,” he mutters so quietly you have to strain to hear it, “because she deals with the buckets when we pail.”

“I had no idea you two were intimate-“

“We’re not! Now shut your face gash because the last thing we need in this goddamned circus I call an organisation is another fucking shipper!” There is a muffled noise behind you, and Karkat proceeds to remove his shoe and use it bludgeon Jake English, who is trussed up like a turkey in the boot.

“Best friend, I will up and stop this car in order so that I can be papping you, you motherfucking see if I don’t.” To your surprise, Karkat slumps back into his chair, pulling a hand down his face. Ah, this troll disease called moirallegiance.

“I’m calm. I’m calm. I’m calmer than Tavros after he tripped and fell headfirst into the fairy dust.” Gamzee guffaws, causing the car to swerve again.

“Now that was a motherfucking miracle! Okay, bro, you’re chill, it’s good, ‘cause we’re going to be up and getting there in t-minus now.” He yanks the wheel and slams the breaks, drifting sideways into the parking lot for a decrepit park. The seatbelt yanks against your shoulder, winding you, but you fare better than Dave, who had declared himself too cool for seatbelts and now flies over Gamzee’s head into the window shield. The clown lets out a delighted honk.

You can hear peals of laughter from outside, and on the other side of the parking lot you can see a similarly beat up Volvo, three figures leaning against it- two blonde humans and a troll with horns like Gamzee.

“Are you ready?” Karkat doesn’t give you a chance to answer before pushing the door open and climbing. You follow suit, as do Gamzee and Terezi, who helps Dave peel himself off the glass. Gamzee goes to the trunk and slings Jake over his shoulder like a particularly wriggly sack of feathers.

“Yoohoo!” shrieks the girl- the girl, your _sister_ \- from the other side of the parking lot. “Over here!” Dave comes to stand behind you, face set in grim determination.

“Brace yourself, Lalonde. They’re bigger than us, but if we keep our wits about us we should be able to get through this. Brains over brawn and all that shit.” You tut.

“So melodramatic. Next you’ll be claiming that they’re Goliath to your David.”

“Don’t call me David.”

“Why not?” You’ve been walking as you talk, following behind the trolls, but now Dave turns to the figures in front of you.

Your sister is tall, taller than you’ve ever hoped to be, but glancing down proves that at least three of those inches are thanks to the vicious pair of blood red stilettos she’s currently wobbling in. Her hair is longer than yours, a bit more styled, her skirt is far shorter than you would ever wear and a crop top shows off a completely flat stomach with a glittering belly ring. Her face is more angled, her eyes carefully made up with a shimmery dust, and she’s wearing the same black lipstick that you favour.

A flash of resentment burns through you, hot and bitter.

Your brother (your _other_ brother, because you’ve got from zero to two in one week flat) isn’t as tall as her, most likely because his shoes are flat trainers, but he’s still got a few inches on Dave, and that’s discounting his carefully spiked hair. Like Dave, he’s wearing sunglasses, but his are sharply pointed like a character from an anime. A white tank top shows off well muscled arms and there is a sword hanging through one of the loops in his jeans.

“David,” he says, nodding down.

“Dietrich,” Dave replies. Their faces are both perfectly impassive, and if you see either jump when your sister lets out an excited squeal and drapes herself over your new brother, well, you’ll never breathe a word of it.

“Dirky, isn’t this exciting? Look, Dirky, we’ve got a new sibling! Isn’t that exciting?” ‘Dirky’ doesn’t have a chance to react before she swivels to face you. “I’m Roxy, and this is Dirk! And obviously you’ve already met Davey! What’s your name?” Her words are slurred, and on the hood behind her you can see a half full martini glass.

“Rose.” Your voice is terse, and you quickly do your best to smooth your expression down. Roxy gives a gleeful giggle, hiccups, and then starts giggling harder.

“Did you hear that, Dirky? Rosie! We have our own little Rosie now!”

“Fascinating,” he says pushing off the car and going to Gamzee- You realise with a jolt that the trolls have just been stood there, watching this entire thing. “Hey, English. You enjoying yourself?” Jake, who is currently hanging upside down from Gamzee’s shoulder, gives him a flat look before beginning to wriggle again, words muffled by the gag. “Okay, okay, yeah; give him here big guy.”

Gamzee smiles nastily and Jake falls with all the elegance of a sack of potatoes, landing on the ground with a muffled _oof!_ An eyebrow appears from behind Dirk’s shades.

“Rude.”

“Thanks, mate,” says Jake as Dirk un-trusses him, rubbing at his wrists. They both freeze at the scythe that appears at his throat. Karkat is stood behind him, glaring dangerously.

“Yeah, thanks ‘mate,’ but we’ve got a couple of questions for you nookwipes before you leave.”

“The deal was Ahab’s crosshairs. We’re not answering any of your stupid questions.” Dave pushes past Roxy and opens their trunk, pulling out what you have been told is both legendary weapon and juju. Honestly, it looks like a legendary piece of shit- one of those plastic guns you buy at the costume store when you leave your Halloween outfit until the day before, but the way everyone’s eyes track its movements as he walks over and gives it to Terezi suggests otherwise.

“Sure, give the gun to the blind girl,” Dirk deadpans. “There’s no way that could go wrong. Where the hell is Kurloz?” Kurloz is in deep conversation with Gamzee at the other end of the parking lot; both are completely oblivious to what’s going on around them. “Fucking Makaras.”

“Stop delaying,” growls Karkat, and Jake gasps as a bead of red wells under the scythe. “It’s just a question or two- no reason to get your human earth panties in a bunch.

“Dude, neither of us are on Earth-“

“I smell deflection!” Terezi is suddenly in his face, grinning manically down at him, and Dave snorts when Dirk flinches slightly. “And I will not allow deflection in my court block! Deflectors will be fed to his honourable tyranny.” She pulls her cane apart, and oh look, it’s actually a hidden blade. Somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to be surprised.

“Little Pyrope is craaaaazy,” Roxy slurs behind you.

“When interrogated, the accused was found to be lacking in several mental capacities; not just intelligence, but also in memory, because while some aspects were recounted in perfect detail-“

“Oh Jakey, did you spill?” Roxy pushes off the car to join them.

“-others were fuzzy, vague, or missing altogether-“

“Sorry chaps, but I’m afraid I did; would you believe that Jade shot me?”

“Holy taint-chafing fuck, can we keep a conversation on track for at least once in our lives, or is that too difficult for you pus filled anal boils to handle?!”

“You’re the one derailing, Karkitty-“

“Yeah dude, you spend more time insulting us than actually--“

As they bicker, Dave wanders back to you, his hands in his pockets- a perfect picture of nonchalance. You raise your eyebrow, and he smirks.

“We could be here a while; might as well entertain ourselves while Karkat and Terezi deal with Tweedle Stoic and Tweedle Drunk.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You mentioned you were making wands. Do you have them on you? Cool, I was thinking...“

 

** == > John: Instigate the perfect prank **

Of course! No one around here has prankster’s gambit even close to matching yours! In fact, the only other person you know besides your dad who even likes pulling pranks is... well. Your sister.

But she isn’t anywhere as good at it as you and hardly counts as real competition.

You grin widely and thank the pranking gods that Sollux mutters aloud to himself as he works. After you hadn’t been able to get into your block, you’d gone to him. Turned out his dancestor Mituna had hacked his system and changed every keypad code to ‘8008135.’

Maybe you can count him as another prankster! Even though you’ve never met him before because he doesn’t leave the Alpha building and is, according to Sollux, a ‘spasticated retard loser.’ Well, that’s what he called him earlier, but you reckon he’s just angry that he can’t crack the program used.

But while the cats are away, the mice shall play, and with both Karkat and the resident rule-enforcer Terezi out the building, you are having a whale of a time! You’ve already hit Dave’s block, and Jade’s, because she’s too busy with Tavros working on this new Angel Blood stuff to notice, and now you are going to get Rose.

You haven’t actually met her yet, but Jade says she’s really nice, and since she’s Dave’s sister but not a member of Alpha then she can’t be too bad; maybe she’ll like pranks too! Keying in the code, you take a quick look around her block. You’re not nosy! Just a bit curious.

It’s pretty empty because she’s only been here a few days, but she’s got her husk top on the desk and a bed that’s absolutely swimming with pillows, along with a load of bottles and vials of ingredients piled in one corner. Jade had said that she was in to potions- maybe she could make you something to turn you invisible!

The bucket of water sloshes as you put it down, propping the door open with a pillow and leaning the ladder against it. You pick it up again and climb up, carefully balancing it on the protruding door edge. There. The perfect prank accomplished. Your grin widens-

-and then drops as you realise you are now stuck in the room. Damn.

Ah well. You’re pretty tired anyway- good pranking takes it out of you, and you’ve had to portal three times in the last three days dropping off drugs from Tavros. Your smile drops a little further as you think about how totally not proud of you your dad would be if he knew.

But it’s not like you can help it! You need the money and a seventeen year old boy without even a high school diploma to his name just isn’t going to make enough through conventional means. Jane isn’t exactly any help.

You determinedly think about Rose’s expression when she gets back, and Jade and Dave’s expressions when they discover their pranks, flopping down onto the bed and burrowing into the cushions. Man, you’re kind of depressed now. Maybe later Dave will let you visit the Mayor; that always cheers you up.

You drift off, dreaming of buckets and cans and hospitals that smell like disinfectant.

****

** == > Rose: Mess with siblings **

Five minutes later, you proudly regard your handiwork. All four of the car’s wheels are melted to the ground, and with Dave’s hand guiding yours there is now an incredibly shitty cartoon burned into the paintwork. Bumping his proffered fist, you both turn back to the others.

Roxy and Jake are both blushing flaming red, while Dirk looks merely uncomfortable, which you assume is his equivalent. Jake’s next is bleeding in earnest now, and Karkat and Terezi both stare, disbelieving, at the humans.

“No, you know what, I call bullshit. If you hid his memory in void, why the fuck is he blushing?”

“I remember some of it,” Jake says weakly. “Enough to know that I don’t want to remember the rest.”

“They smell like honesty, Karkles. Honesty and shame. So, Mr Tangerine, what caused this delicious blush I can smell on your cohorts.”

“Callie sent us an arte... arte... really old thing.” You notice the half drunk bottle of vodka in Roxy’s hand that she certainly didn’t have before. “Just before she was killed. Said that if anything happened to her, we could use it against her brother.”

“I’d been talking to Calliborn,” Dirk continues, “establishing a rapport with him, and I convinced him to send Jane his half of the artefact as a birthday gift.”

“What is he, thick?”

“Very.”

“Well, neither old thing showed _any_ power on their own. But Janey had the idea to put them together, seeing how cherubs have that whole bifur... bifir _cation_ thing going on. Hehe- _hic-_ li’l Captor would love it. Only it didn’t end like we wanted. It- yeah, no, it didn’t end well.”

“Turns out, the thing can only be used by cherubs. If a human or a troll tries to use it, it does weird things to their mind.”

“What sort of weird things, Mr Tangerine?”

“Weird things.”

“So I- _hic-_ hid it in the void. Thing was _crazy_ powerful, we couldn’t let Callie’s brother get his hands on it. No one can find it now, especially not him.”

“You took the most powerful weapon in our combined arsenal... given to you _by a cherub, to fight a cherub_... _and you threw it away?”_ Karkat is incensed, spit flying with every word, and for a moment you’re worried he’s going to slit Jake’s throat the way his hands are shaking. “Fine. Fine, I give up. Why don’t we just prostrate ourselves before our new overlord now, save everyone the trouble of actually making a goddamned microgram of effort seeing as apparently even that much would cause the fetid slurries of cholerbear faeces you call your stream of consciousness to dry up faster than a hooker’s nook faced with Cronus fucking Ampora!” He removes the sickles from Jake’s throat and pushes him forward, sending him flying to the ground, before spinning on his heels. “We’re going; Gamzee! Get your scrawny ass back over here.” He breaks away from his... dancestor?... with a grin and comes loping over.

As the car pulls away, you and Dave twist and look over your shoulders to see them returning to their Volvo. Dirk meets your gaze and flips you two middle fingers. Roxy laughs and pulls out her phone. Turning back, you meet Gamzee’s gaze in the rear-view mirror.

“What are looking at, seer?” he growls, voice low, only to yelp when Terezi punches him in the shoulder, causing the car to swerve.

“No black flirting in the fucking car!” Karkat all but roars, and then goes back to nursing his head in his hands. “Gamzee, get us back as quickly as possible; I’m seizing the entirety of Serket’s alcohol supply, leader’s orders. Who wants to get blackout drunk with me?” Terezi lets out a gleeful cheer, and with a _whoop whoop_ Gamzee hits the accelerator, sending the car careening down the road.

 

** == > Aradia: Be the exhibitionist **

You follow the sound of furious swearing coupled with the crackle of psychic discharge to your moirail, who is sat at the main terminal seething at the flashing screen. Sneaking up behind him, you lean forward and whisper very delicately in his ear

“What’s the matter, Honeybee?”

He jumps at least a foot in the air before flushing a deep mustard right to the tips of his ears. You laugh and he sighs, letting his head drop forward on to the keyboard with a _thunk_.

“Fucking Alpha,” he mutters, low enough that you almost don’t catch it. “Messing with my software like the bulge lickers that they are.”

“Oh yeah; Nepeta told me about the new code for all the doors.”

“Well, they’ve changed it again, so don’t go out any doors you’ll need to get back through.” You make a questioning noise and he lifts his head just enough to type in a quick command, pulling up a new window.

**Code changed** it read in no-nonsense letters. **New code: *lewonk**

“Sollux, our keypads are number based.”

“I _know_ ,” he groans, “and I can’t fucking change it because the binary bees are in the middle of their sleep cycle. They won’t wake up for at least three hours, and then I’m going to have to get through their firewall. It could be days!”

“It won’t be days,” you sigh, fingers carding through his hair. He makes a soft noise of contentment and you smile. “You are the best programmer in any of the three realms, and you will get us through almost as soon as the bees wake up. Now, do we need to have a feelings jam?”

“How? We can’t get into either of our blocks because of fucking _Roxy Lalonde_ and her idiotic little stooge.” You grin, once more leaning your mouth right next to his ear.

“Who says we have to go back to our blocks? I say we do one” your voice drops “ _right here.”_ He shivers and turns to you, a nasty grin stretching over his face.

“You kinky little-“ Whatever he was going to say is cut off when you reach out and squeeze one of his horns. He practically melts into you.

“I’m going to make a pile. You just sit back and enjoy the view.” He makes a strangled noise, grin returning in full force, and settles down in the chair.

“AA, have I ever mentioned how completely pale I am for you?”

“No, but it’s okay; we have all night.”

“ _Holy shit yes._ ”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't there a prophecy involved in all this at some point?

** ==> Rose: Who’s this clown? **

When you return, you immediately seek out Kanaya, a bubble of concern blooming in the pit of your stomach. The consorts direct you to one of the many communal sitting rooms, where she is stretched on the sofa reading bad human vampire fiction. When she sees you, she blushes, and attempts to hide the book.

“We all have our vices,” you tell her with a smile. “Hello, Kanaya; I hope I find you well?”

“Well enough, though more than slightly peeved.” She glances at her watch with a frown. “Have you only just returned? You took an awfully long time for a drop-off.” You grimace, sitting down next to her.

“It quickly devolved into an interrogation, coupled with some petty vandalism on the part of my brother and I.” Kanaya nods and unfolds her feet from beneath her.

“That would explain the tampering with our electronics, which Sollux still has not been able to repair, hence me reading... out here.” As she says it, there is a muffled shout of anger from the corridor, along with the crackle of psychic discharge and then, much fainter, the sound of shooshing. Neither of you can help but smirk.

“As enjoyable a read as I believe that is, I need to talk to you and I do not believe a public sitting area to be the most opportune of places. Would you care to accompany me to my rooms.” You very nearly give her an eyebrow wiggle, but it is a serious matter you wish to discuss and so you refrain (barely).

“That’s not possible- the problem that Sollux is thus far unable to fix is to do with the doors, and the codes on the doors. No one has access to their rooms.” There is another crackle, and the sound of Karkat swearing profusely. His insults really are remarkable in both their complexity and their crudity.

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to magic us in. This really is very serious.” She gives you a long look, before nodding and standing up.

“Yes, I can see. Very well- let’s proceed.”

Neither of you speaks as you pass through the corridors, save to occasionally greet someone else you pass along the way. Vriska holds you up for a full five minutes complaining about the doors not opening, until Kanaya eventually tells her very firmly to go away. Finally you reach the corridor to your room, only to freeze when you see that your door is slightly ajar.

“Rose, do you make a habit of leaving the door to your rooms open? Because I would strongly advise against it, even if humans do not need fear rousing each others like trolls do.”

“No; privacy is something I tend towards like a moth to a flame.”

“In that case I recommend being careful when entering, as the person is likely still inside and may be armed. Would you like me to go first?” You give her a flat look, which she returns with a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“I am not a child to be coddled and protected, Kanaya; I can look after myself.” The eyebrow arches higher.

“Oh really? Because from what Dave told me, he took less than twenty seconds to pin you, him unarmed and you armed, around a short conversation between the two of you.” You can feel your deadpan expression twist into a scowl, but you have absolutely no interest in reining it in.

“Firstly, I was armed with nothing more than a pair of knitting needles, a state of vulnerability I have since rectified. Secondly, do you often discuss me with my brother?”

“If you two have finished arguing, do you want to come in so I can show you something?” The voice makes you jump, but Kanaya relaxes when she hears it.

“Oh, it is John. No worries, he is quite harmless.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” You turn and push the door in, but don’t even manage a full step into your rooms when a bucket of water crashes down upon you, soaking you through completely. Through your sopping fringe you can see a boy that could be Jade’s male double, or perhaps a young Jake, grinning at you from... what is he doing on your bed?

“Oh my.” Kanaya is staring at the bucket, two spots of dark green appearing on her high cheekbones. Damn. You had forgotten the cultural significance of buckets to trolls, and judging by John’s panicked expression, so had he. He withers under your gaze.

“What. Is. This?” Water runs in rivulets down your back, you know for fact that there will be mascara lines all down your face, and you’re about 90% sure your t-shirt is going see through. John flushes a brilliant scarlet and rubs the back of his neck.

“Ahahah, ahah, I should go, shouldn’t I?”

“That would be advised.” He flees, slamming the door behind him, and with a sigh you turn back to Kanaya. Her initial scandalised expression is gone, replaced with tightly pursed lips and wide eyes.

“You may laugh if you want.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” This is accompanied by a little snort, and next second she is doubled over, wheezing, in what is possibly the most inelegant laughing fit you have ever witnessed. Every time it seems she has finished, she takes another look at you and dissolves all over again. Despite yourself, you feel a small smile tug at your own lips, and soon you are laughing along with her. Eventually you manage to stop, and with a little ‘hem’ she straightens up. “So, you said that you had need to speak with me?”

“Yes; it is a delicate topic, as it has to do with Karkat’s moirail, but I believed that you would be the best recipient of the information.” She takes a seat and you follow suit; leaning forward, she waits for you to continue. “I’d thought I recognised his symbol, but it took until the return journey for me to remember where I had seen it previously.”

“And where was that?”

“The astrology column of my mother’s magazines. He’s a Capricorn, is he not?” Once again, her perfect eyebrow arches.

“He is, but you say this as though it should impart some measure of significance; if it does, it has gone completely over my head.” You quickly explain the prophecy you received to her. When you are finished, she leans back again, looking ponderous. “I see.”

“So you understand my concerns?”

“I understand them, but you need not worry, Rose- if Gamzee were of any danger to us, we would know.”

“Know? How would you know?”

“We would know. Most likely your prophecy relates to his dancestor, Kurloz. We all share our symbols with our dancestors, and Kurloz is far more conniving than his Beta counterpart.” The name rings a bell, and then you remember that it was the name of the troll your siblings had brought with them. He’d looked just like Gamzee, though if he wore a Capricorn symbol on him then you were too far way to make it out. It’s a possibility, though you remain unconvinced. Kanaya’s words remind you of something else.

“That’s another thing I’ve been meaning to ask- what in the three realms is a dancestor?” She resettles herself, shifting her weight and crossing her legs, before answering.

“I’m sure you know that in troll society, we don’t have siblings in the same way that humans do. So we, when confronted with others who shared a common ancestor with us, had to create a term to apply to our rather... unique situation. Hence dancestor- short for ‘descendant of my ancestor’.”

“And you’re sure that Gamzee’s... dancestor is the Capricorn of the prophecy?”

“Quite. Trust me, Rose, when I say that, for now at least, Gamzee is harmless. Besides- 'trust not the friendly Capricorn.'  You’ve met him- did he seem particularly friendly to you?” You think of the way he snarled at Terezi, his grin when dropping Jake- _‘what are you looking at,_ Seer _?’_

“I suppose not.” Before she can continue, the intercom crackles to life, once again making you jump- you hadn’t even realised there was an intercom system. Kanaya seems unruffled, and merely looks up in interest.

“ _Alright, fuckwits. Sollux isn’t going to be able to fix this coding problem any time today. That means none of us will be getting back in our rooms. Everyone pick a room to sleep in, and once you have get a consort to draw your symbol on it. That means no excuses for walking in on anyone else sleeping. It’s not my fault if any of you nooksniffers get mauled.”_

The crackling stops; it is possibly the most succinct thing you have ever heard Karkat say. Kanaya gets to her feet, smoothing down her already perfect skirt, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“If you’ll excuse me, I believe Equius will try to claim the room I want.” Her voice drops as she leans down next to you. “I’ll see you around, Rose Lalonde.” This said, she pecks you on the cheek, before straightening up and turning away. You just see her pulling out an elegant chainsaw before the door shuts behind her.

You reach up and touch the spot on your cheek where her lips brushed; a few points on the snarky broad horseshit-o-meter tick to her favour. A smile spreads across your face.

The battle has just begun.

 

**End Part 1**


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Rose Lalonde and right now you are literally tearing this place apart, brick by brick.

**COMMENCE PART 2**

 

_**MONTHS IN THE FUTURE (BUT NOT MANY)** _

 

** == > Rose: Aid and Abet **

Your name is Rose Lalonde and right now you are literally tearing this place apart, brick by brick.

The room you’re in is small, but tall, with sweeping bookcases reaching right up to the ceiling. Every shelf is crammed with books, at least two deep, with more books stacked on top of them. At the base of one bookshelves is a not unimpressive pile of tomes that were thrown down carelessly; perched on the top shelf, Aradia gives you a cheerful wave as the books below her begin to crumble to dust.

In the centre of the room is a man on a chair, quietly groaning in pain as Vriska’s claws dig deeper into his bald scalp. He’s tan, possibly Hispanic or perhaps mixed race. You wouldn’t know, as all your mother’s dinner parties could have been eugenics posters from the Third Reich and the media treats pigmentation with the same trepidation of an explorer encountering a wild panther. His ethnicity is ‘Darker than Dave and I, but lighter than John and Jade,’ and that’s probably as close as you’ll get it.

The man wasn’t part of the plan, but he’s here now so he may as well make himself useful; when he sees the empty shelves where books once sat, he groans even louder. Aradia giggles and moves over to the next shelf; another cascade of books tumbles to the ground. You destroy the one she was sat on in a blaze of white light like pure, undiluted sunlight and proceed to rip out the bricks that sat behind it.

“Please! Please, no, stop! I’ll give you anything you want, just don’t hurt my books!” Aradia simply grins and concentrates on disintegrating the next round of volumes. “No, please! Anything! Anything, just name it!”

“We want to know who your dealer is.” Vriska yanks the back of his shirt; a poor substitute for hair, but enough to make him cry. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“Beta! We get everything we sell from Beta, talk to them! We buy... _ha_... we buy the drugs we sell from Beta, and we get protection from Alpha, what do you want from me?” He’s openly sobbing now, and you wonder how much deeper Vriska’s claws would have to go before they reach his skull: they’re already pretty deeply embedded.

“Beta doesn’t sell Angel Blood,” you tell him coldly, vaporising the bookshelf Aradia was just on. He’s trying to curl in on himself, but Vriska’s forcing his head back, forcing him to look straight at you. “If you really want to save these books, you’ll tell us who your supplier is.”

“We get it straight from the source!” Vriska scowls and he yelps, blood trickling down his face and dripping from his ears and nose. “His name is English! Lord English!” Another wave of dust washes through the room, and you can hear Aradia shuffling over again. You keep your attention focused on the man, stepping forward and leaning forward, getting into his personal space.

“And where is Lord English supplying you from?”

“I don’t know!” he wails, trying to yank away and weeping as it just causes the claws to gouge into his skin; his scalp resembles a small child’s craft project, delicate brown tissue paper stuck down with too much glue, crumpled and ripped and displayed in pride of place on the door of Vriska’s fridge.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” The book hits him square in the face and Aradia gives a delighted laugh; Vriska joins in, and you can’t help but smile as he hunches in on himself, rivulets from his nose now joining those from the top of his head.

“Parcel Mistress! She drops it off and she takes him the money! No addresses given!” You all stop at that, and then with a yell of frustration Vriska literally rips his throat out, throwing the cartilage-ringed tube across the room. The man gives a last, gurgling breath and then slumps forward, blood still pumping sluggishly out his many holes.

“Vriska!” Aradia admonishes, hopping down. “He might have still been useful!” The blueblood rolls her eyes and tosses her blood encrusted hair back over her shoulder.

“Whatever! Can we just get out of here? I don’t want to have to be the one to break this to Karkat.” She kicks the body away and starts to cross the room, Aradia following and trying to dust book corpse off her clothes. You take a step before hesitating, walking up to one of the bookshelves instead. Aradia notices and stops.

“What is it?”

“He claimed to be willing to do anything to protect these books; if he had held out, there’s a chance the others would have returned to save him before we had our information. He essentially gave his life for it.” Vriska shrugs.

“So what? Some people are freaks and losers. He was probably weak; not our problem if he cared more about the gang accounts or whatever than staying alive.” You raise an eyebrow, pulling a book off the shelf and holding it out for them to see. _500 Ways to Skin a Catfish!_ Exclaims the title in red comic sans; on the shelf on either side of where it was stand _Molly Moon’s Incredible Book Of Hypnotism_ and _Everything You Didn’t Know About Cheesecake._

A scrutinising glance around the room reveals that one of the bookshelves is a slightly darker wood than the others; a second later it simply ceases to be, your magic rending it apart like a sword through Kleenex. As the dust settles a gleaming safe is revealed, snugly nestled in the wall. Vriska grins and Aradia slaps you a high-five.

“Jackpot! Okay, I’ll be in this in a sec.” The tip of her tongue pokes out between her lips as Vriska presses her ear against the door and starts fiddling with the combination.

“I could disintegrate the locking mechanism,” Aradia offers.

“Or I could open it with magic,” you add. Vriska scowls at both of you before returning her attention to the lock.

“Jeeeeeeeez, guys, let me do it myself! I hardly got to do anything this trip!” She says it lightly, as though it were a field trip and not a dangerous foray into the central headquarters of another gang; both you and Aradia glance at the oesophagus in the corner beneath a blood spattered wall. Neither of you say anything. “Got it!”

The lock pops open and you crowd around to see what’s inside, only to have your jaw drop open- behind the door is an entire other room, piled high with miscellaneous valuable items. Next to you, Aradia and Vriska are markably less impressed.

“What’s the matter, Rose? Never seen Whovian magic before?” Vriska tosses her hair again, sending a blood clot straight at Aradia, who scowls and wipes it off her nose.

“It’s Poppins, dummy; Whovian has to have a big enough entrance to actually go in. Besides, look!” She thrusts her arm through the hole. “Gold ingot.” Next second, she is knocked down as a veritable flood of gold bars fly through and bury her. You keep it together for all of a second before you and Vriska crack up. Aradia scowls up at you from the ground, but she’s smiling too, and you give her a hand back up.

“Do either of you actually know what those mean?” you ask as Aradia winces, poking at an ingot shaped bruise already forming over her collarbone.

“No,” she murmurs. “Etymology has never been a strong suite of mine.” Vriska is too busy examining the contents of the room to answer. “Why? Do they have some special meaning?” You hide your smirk.

“No, I was just wondering; anything good?” This is directed at Vriska, who gives you a wide smile with far too many fangs.

“All the things, Rose; aaaaaaaallllllll the things.”

She isn’t lying; the room is heaped with precious jewels, glittering weaponry, mounds of boon bucks and enough silver bars to smelt a tank. The gold ones lie at Aradia’s feet as she cranes to look over your shoulder.

“Well, there’s certainly too much to get back to Alpha, unless we have Jade brought over to shrink it down. What do you think?”

“The purpose of this trip was information, but the term ‘looting’ was bandied about several times,” you reply. Vriska grins and punches the air for no apparent reason. You look at her, and continue. “I may not have space powers like Jade, but I could open a portal on the other side of this to send it directly back.” Aradia nods thoughtfully.

“That could work.” Whatever she was about to say next is cut off as Vriska yells

“Hit the deck!”

Before turning to the hole and the wall and calling

“Bronze lance!”

You and Aradia barely manage to duck in time before the massive weapon shoots through, pointed end first. It’s flying fast enough to make the motors of Vriska’s mechanical arm whir in pain when she catches it, but she ignores the distress of her main killing arm in favour of looking it over.

“A bit more warning next time please,” Aradia mutters as she climbs back to her feet. “Unless you want me riding shotgun again; two of our number have already been shish-kebabed, I have no interest in making it a round three.” She helps you back to your feet as Vriska flips her the bird.

“Who else has been impaled?” You ask; as far as you were aware, no FRAF members in the past had died, unless the Alpha counterpart had also perished. Aradia frowns, looking back into the hole in the wall.

“Eridan tried accompanying Kanaya on some diplomatic work on Alternia and ended up getting her blasted through the middle with a death ray; that was how we found out she was a rainbow drinker. And Tavros...” Vriska finally looks up, and they share a look. “Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty, and leave it at that.”

“Did he-“

“It wasn’t pretty.” Her dark expression brightens as she turns back. “Oh, excellent! Heads up, everyone, I’m calling it through.” You and Vriska both step away from the safe. “Golden tree.” She staggers under the weight of it, but manages to stay upright. You inspect the design of it, the splitting branches along with the needles sticking out in lieu of leaves.

“Please tell me that’s not-“

“A golden bi-fir-cation? Yeah, Sollux has been wanting one for ages!” You groan at the pun, shaking your head, before peering back into the treasure room.

“I feel stingy now; I’m the only one who isn’t bringing back a present.” Vriska glances between you and the room, before her gaze comes to settle on the dead man still in his chair.

“You’re flushing for Fussyfangs, aren’t you?” You blush red and open your mouth. “Everybody knows, Rose, don’t be so lame.”

“As an organisation we’re notorious for our ruthlessness, efficiency, and the ability to spread a particularly enticing rumour through the entirety of Skaia in less than an hour.” Aradia gives you a commiserative look, and you remember hearing at length from one of the trolls lower down in the system about her and Equius’ red/pitch problems.

“ _Aaaaaaaanyway._ Bring her some coagulated human blood.” Vriska smirks, and for a moment you are gripped with the absurd notion that the next thing she’ll say will be ‘Bitches love coagulated human blood.’ “She uses it for her tea.”

You’ve been hanging out with Dave too much.

Aradia pulls a two gallon bottle from her sylladex and hands it to you, and you decide you’re much happier not knowing why she was carrying it around. Turning to the cadaver in the middle of the room, you place the canister between your feet and raise the Thorns of Olgogath. Magic burns through your veins; it feels like your blood’s been turned to lava, feels like your circulatory system is being charred from the inside out. It’s a rush in the most fucked up sense of the term, and every time you want more... more, more, ripping the blood from his body and channelling it into the bottle, high on power and adrenaline until you have every drop and you drop your arms with a gasp.

A year ago even the thought would have repulsed you; a month ago you’d have felt sick, horrified at yourself, tainted; now you screw the lid on and captchalogue it.  Vriska is watching you with a smirk.

“Okay, she says when you turn back to the others. “Time to send the rest of this stuff back.”

 

** SHIT, LET’S BE SANTA! **

“John is back,” is the first thing you hear when you return to Headquarters. You meet and return Dave’s wry smirk. “Poor dude is kind of confused as to why there’s half a ton of gold on his bed. I told him, shit man, that’s what you get for messing with snarky broads. Passive aggressive gold. Passive aggressive gold is what you get.” His hair is still tinted pink from the dye that John put in his shampoo, but he took it in good humour; Jade gave John a black eye, and now neither of them will say what the prank even was.

“A fine display of masculinity such as John, I’m sure it will be no problem for him to move it. Perhaps he can command Equius to assist him.” You try to sweep past him to return to your chambers, but he grabs your arm.

“Not so fast, Lalonde. Perhaps you didn’t hear me: _John is back_. That means gifts all round in the central sitting room.” He leans past you to where Aradia and Vriska are still bickering in the entrance hall. “Yo, assassin girls; John’s waiting for us.” They immediately stop their conversation, expressions brightening, and together you all follow Dave back to the living room.

“Hey, Rose!” John beams when you come in, an honest to god sack on the coffee table in front of him. “Hey guys!”

“Joooooooohn,” drawls Vriska, meandering over to him and carding her fingers through his hair. “You’ve been gone for aaaaaaaages.”

“Just three weeks, Vriska; besides, look what I got!” He pulled out the newest Nicholas Cage movie, one you saw advertised last time you were in the first realm; Vriska snatches it and quickly scans the blurb, grinning. “I think the troll title would be ‘In Which A Rogue Renegade Cast Out By Society Fights-“

“Shut up!” she snaps, still reading. “You’ll spoil it.” Captchaloguing it, she kisses him on the cheek, winks at his blush and swans out the room. You have the sneaking suspicion that she’s going to watch it right away, but she’s back in just a few seconds. “By the way, Tavros, I got you this- you know, cause I’m the _best_ moirail; it’s me.” She tosses him the lance, which he catches easily, and disappears again.

For a human, moirallegiance can be difficult enough to understand, but from the looks on the others’ faces whenever they’re together, no one really has any idea what’s going on with that relationship.

John continues pulling gifts from his bag; Karkat gets a bag of Irish toffee which he immediately gums his mouth shut on; Sollux gets a box of floppy disks, which make him laugh so hard he cries; Eridan gets a scarf from Forever21, and a dress to deliver to Feferi (the only FRAF member that you have yet to meet).

“M’lady,” he says, dropping to one knee and presenting her with a dried, flower-shaped... thing. “And I suppose it’s for Tavros too, but it would be kind of weird if I... yeah.” They both ignore him, instead examining the (possibly?) plant matter. “It’s called an African thistle; I heard it was super hallucinogenic, so-“ Jade's face lights up.

“Come on, Tavros! We have research to do!” She drags him from the room, and as the door swings shut again you can just hear a muffled shout of “FOR SCIENCE!” from the end of the corridor. There is a moment of stunned silence.

“Coroner’s report concerning: Tavros Nitram. Species: troll. Blood colour: rust. Age: ten sweeps. Cause of death- strong female characters.” Dave’s tone is completely dry, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitching and you can feel yours doing the same. John doesn’t even bother trying to hide his mirth, bursting into delighted giggles.

“What the fuck is a coroner?” says Karkat finally. Dave waves him off, and you all focus your attention back on the presents. Terezi gets a New York hot dog, which she proceeds to shred with malicious abandon; Gamzee gets a book of face painting techniques which he accepts with a languid ‘thanks, my most righteous brother’, earning him a lot of confused blinking from Karkat. Aradia and Nepeta both get mummified cats which they love, though for starkly contrasting reasons. Dave gets a Hello Kitty bedspread.

“This will do,” he says, nodding and looking it over. “This will do nicely. Thanks.”

You get the most beautifully engraved violin you’ve ever seen.

“You mentioned you played violin,” John says, looking nervous. “And this is meant to be a really good one; and it’s really cool and kind of gothic like you, and I just thought that well, maybe if you were still interested, you might want to...” There are very few instances in which you’d copy Vriska, but this appears to be one of them. Leaning forward, you give him a gentle kiss on the cheek; he immediately cuts off, blushing to his roots.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“No... no problem,” he stammers, and immediately dives back in his bag. “Okay, last two things.” Pulling out a box which tinkles as it moves, he hands it to Kanaya. “For your morning tea- there’s Caucasian, Hispanic, Latino- cause I wasn’t sure if there’s a difference- African, Chinese, Japanese, Native American and Aboriginal; that last one was really hard to get, let me tell you.” She smiles as she takes it from him.

“Thank you, John- this is lovely.” You think of the 2 gallon container of blood in your sylladex. You know that you are hopefully outclassed, and cannot help the flash of bitterness that stings you, metallic in your mouth.

“You’ll have to tell me which you like best, okay? Then I can get you more. And Dave, this is for the mayor.” He pulls out a bumper colouring book- More than 500 pictures!- and the largest box of Crayola you’ve ever seen. “I had to kill a few people for all of these- literally! Where do you think Kanaya’s blood came from?” Dave stares at them for a long moment before accepting it.

“Thanks man,” he says, voice tender in the way it only is when he’s talking about the mayor. “Truly.” John pulls him into a hug which he doesn’t even try to resist, before yawning and stretching.

“Well, I’m going to go sleep for about eighteen hours; night all!” It’s three in the afternoon and his room is still filled with gold, but no one points that out. John leaves, and one by one everyone trickles out, until the only ones left are you and Terezi.

You’ve barely spoken to her since your initial fight, and you’re about to leave now when she smiles at you. It’s not her usual grin, spiky and manic and cruel; it’s softer, more understanding, and it makes you pause where you’re sat.

“You can’t blame John,” she says finally. You open your mouth though you don’t yet know your reply, but she cuts you off. “I can smell it on you- you smell like you just swallowed a lemon.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I get it, Rose; we’ve all been there before- me maybe more than most. When he first came, Karkat got a pitch-crush on him like you wouldn’t believe, and yeah, I was jealous; but you can’t blame John, and you can’t try to measure yourself up against him. You’ll never compare: none of us ever do.”

“So then what should I do?” You’re voice is angry and shaky and hurt; it’s the voice of a ten year old who thought she could shame her mother into quitting drinking by blowing her savings on online champagne as a mother’s day gift; the voice of a twelve year old who didn’t understand why the other kids called her a freak and wouldn’t talk to her; the voice of a fourteen year old who decided she didn’t need anyone but herself, and decided that if they called her a freak she would show them just how much a freak she could be.

It’s a voice you thought you had left behind years ago, and are ashamed and chagrined to rediscover. Terezi gives you a sympathetic smile, which slowly widens.

“You’re asking the right person. As seer of mind, I have done extensive research into this very topic. I have concluded that the only way for you to best Kanaya in this game of passive-aggressive one upmanship you seem to be up to- unless you want a Kismesis. Then just keep going on this path. But otherwise, the best way to regain your points on the flighty broad horseshit-o-meter is to,” her voice has been dropping as she talks, but now she practically beams, showing off every fang, and practically shouts “tell her how you fucking feel!”

You’re so startled you fall of your chair, and she howls with laughter. To your surprise, though, she also offers you a hand up.

“Trust me,” she says when you’re standing eye to eye. “It’s the only way to make this work.” And oddly enough, you believe her.

“Okay,” you say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos, everyone! I wuld really appreciate some feedback, so if y'all wanna stop by and drop a comment, it would make my day :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goddamnit, but you hate dealing with Parcel Mistress.

** == > Karkat: Who’s this girl? **

She isn’t in chains; she isn’t in ropes or zip ties or even twine. She stares at you and Terezi from across the table and waits for you to talk.

Goddamnit, but you hate dealing with Parcel Mistress.

“You think you already know what you’re going to say,” you start, and then stop. Fuck, that sounded stupid. Terezi is no help, standing stoically in the corner of the room with her arms crossed- she hates dealing with this carapace even more than you do. Something about not being able to smell what she’s feeling: it freaks her out. “We know that you’ve been making deliveries for Lord English, and we know that you know where he is. We want you to tell us.” She raised a ridge that was the carapace version of an eyebrow.

“You were right, Mr Vantas; I did already know what I was going to say. I-“

“Just hear me out!” You interrupt, then wince, and try to proceed more civilly. God; you’d have gotten Kanaya to do this instead, but Parcel Mistress refuses to speak with anyone but the leader. “Lord English is amassing an army of angels; he’s going to invade the first and second realm. Your home, your friends, everything you hold dear is going to be destroyed. We can stop it- we just need to know where Lord English is.”

“And supposing I were to give you his location- what would you do then? Have you any way to defeat an ascended cherub?” Her eyes glitter dull gold against her haematite skin, pupils tracking you in that weird way characteristic of higher carapaces- focusing in slightly different directions, making them look distorted, as though you’re staring at them through flowing water.

“We know of the location of an incredibly powerful artefact, gifted by Lord English’s twin in order to help us protect ourselves. We can use it to-“ she raises a hand and you falter off.

“I do not appreciate being lied to Mr Vantas; I’d have thought you would know that by now. Even if you did know where this artefact was, even if you knew how to reach it and how to wield it, even if a thousand dice or coins or whatever objects of chance your little followers are currently into” -Terezi bares her teeth but says nothing- “fall in your favour, my answer would remain the same.”

You open your mouth and shut it again several times, trying to think of a reply not loaded with expletives. God, this woman. You hate her apparent indifference, her manner, her insistence on your manners, but most of all you hate this power she has over you and seemingly everyone else in the three realms. There is very little known about Parcel Mistress, not for lack of trying by any gang even attempting to be major. It is clear that she is a higher carapace, but no one knows which order, nor do they know where she is from, where she lives, her method of transport or even her fucking name.

She smirks, and Terezi growls, and you think you might just die of frustration.

“Okay. Okay, fine. Just... just describe it to us.”

“It remains as it was when I last described it- imperial gold, with four pearls set into it forming a square shape. It was stolen from me many years ago, and when last I heard of it, it had disappeared into a river. I scoured the river for many seasons, but to no avail. I can feel it, however- it is out there, and it is in use.”

“And what is it used for?”

“It varies between individuals, depending on class, aspect, species and a hundred other nuanced factors. However, I am the only one who can wield it to its full potential- any other being who attempts to, for any period of time, shall fall into corruption.”

“Okay, okay, I got it- find it for you, get it to you, don’t bother stealing it for myself because I’ll turn evil. Understood.” She rises and you follow suit.

“Find it for me, Mr Vantas, and I shall tell you the location of Lord English. But don’t get your hopes up- many have tried before you, seeking my assistance, and many have fallen to ruin because of it.” Your smile is at best humourless, at worst angry.

“Well, we’ll also fall to ruin without it.”

“Most likely. Goodbye, Mr Vantas.” She sweeps from the room, and you watch her leave, turning the information over in your mind. Beside you, Terezi is frowning, apparently also deep in thought.

“Okay, spit it out Pyrope,” you say eventually. Through the window, you can see Parcel Mistress walking through the courtyard, those in her way scattering like dust to the wind. Terezi’s frown deepens.

“Even with Dave, or with his shitty human dancestor, I can smell the emotions- no matter how hard they’ve been hiding it. But with Miss Sugar Snow I can’t smell anything.”

“Yeah, you’ve said; what’s your point?”

“I don’t think she’s good at hiding her emotions.” Terezi turns to you, and it looks like this thought genuinely scares her. “I think she doesn’t feel any.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys- just a heads up that with school starting again, chapter updates are probably going to be a lot shorter, and will definitely be less frequent. Just know that it isn't abandoned- even if it takes a while, I WILL update.  
> This said, feedback is always welcome :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a fluffy filler I guess? Group colouring sessions are an important part of any large criminal organisation.

** Rose: Colour **

“Psychopathy,” you say, and hand him a red crayon. He opens his mouth, and for a moment you think you’ll be the next unwitting victim of the verbal landslide that is Karkat Vantas’ dialogue; instead, to your surprise, he dutifully sits down beside you and begins to draw.

 “Well of course I fucking knew that,” he replies, sketching as carefully as one can sketch whilst wielding a blunt lump of wax and dye. “What I want to know is everything else- everything about her, and even more importantly, everything about this ring.”

“Her name is Sauron.” Dave’s glasses are slipping down his nose, his expression one of extreme concentration as he works on an exceptionally shitty drawing. It’s ironic, apparently. “She made the ring eons ago, in the Forge of Hephaestus- only back then it was called Mount Doom, cause they didn’t think Forge of Hephaestus sounded cool enough.”

“It was taken from her during a battle, but the man who took it was also killed,” you continue. Karkat squints at you, but you keep your expression straight.

“Are you two shitting me?”

“Come on, man, would we do that?” Karkat gives you a look of intense scepticism, but he motions for you to continue anyway. “So, his body fell into the river when he was killed- well, I say killed, but really he was betrayed. The corpse drifted downstream, but the ring sunk to the bottom. You know, solid gold and all that shit. It lay there for years, hidden by the river silt.” A shiver goes down your spine and you frown- something feels off. Opposite you, the mayor- who is the reason behind this group colouring session- puts down his felt-tip pen and edges forward, eyes intent. “But by the time Parcel Mistress- or, should I say, Sauron- reached it, she was too late. Because it had been found.”

Your frown deepens, and a pressure at your navel that you have felt ever since you first used your wands- a pressure that you believe to be your store of magic, though you have no idea how that would work anatomically- gives a sharp tug.

“Who found it?”

“The least significant creature; a creature so unimportant in the grand scheme of things that no one ever even thought of him as a threat. But because of it perhaps the only one who could wield the ring for years without corruption. Even so, it affected him in strange ways- his mind was twisted, his lifespan lengthened far beyond what it should have been.” Dave’s voice is low, musical, and the Mayor’s eyes are shining as he listens to the words. Karkat, for his part, looks dazed, and even though you know the lie you cannot help but lean forward, entranced. It’s as though your brother has cast a spell on the room.

Then John’s prankster’s gambit shatters as he lets out a snort, and the spell fragments into a fractal kaleidoscope of bullshittery. Karkat falls back with a huff, the mayor returns to his drawings, and Dave allows a wry smirk to play across his lips. Slowly the conversation returns to idle chatter, and- once again, to your surprise- Karkat remains with you.

 About half an hour passes in pleasant conversation. You, for the most part, are silent: content for once to sit and let Dave’s rambles, Karkat’s muttered rants and John’s anecdotes- particularly about how he once set an entire ocean on fire, a feat you hadn’t previously been aware was even possible- wash over you. Opposite you in the circle, the mayor also sits and listens, large brown eyes crinkling into a smile above a cloth he has wrapped around most of his face.

It is a novel sensation, having and spending time in the company of friends. You were incredibly isolated for most of your childhood, growing up in a house in the middle of the forest with no one but your inebriated mother and a cat whose name was always in dispute. When you were very young, you had dreamt of siblings- five, maybe ten, maybe more, packed into a station wagon (and if you had no idea what a station wagon was at the time, had only seen the term in books and assumed it to be some horse and cart affair, well, what did it matter?) and waving goodbye to grandparents as you drove to the beach for the holidays. As you got older and it became clear that the only relationship your mother planned to maintain was with the wine bottle, your fantasies changed to large universities in even larger cities, an endless affair of students shouting and music playing and cars honking in the distance. Instead you had discovered the second realm, and had traced the path of She who had stepped before you by purchasing the cabin in the woods and immediately retiring from any form of society you could have kept.

Now, though, Karkat is cussing Dave out and John is giggling and you can see swirls of lemon yellow that represent your and Dave’s hair on the paper of the mayor’s drawing, and you allow your black lipstick to stretch into a smile whose width feels unfamiliar on your face. As you watch, a question you have been ruminating on for several weeks now reoccurs to you, and clearly there is no time like the present.

“Karkat?” you ask, and he pauses mid-profanity, looking at you through eyes hooded with suspicion as though you might join your brother and embark on a journey of verbal diarrhoea with no clear end. “The parallels between Alpha and Beta are exceptionally odd, and it occurred to me that I do not know- are you the founder of Beta, or simply the leader. Because I know that in the chain of command, you also defer to the Midnight Crew.” His face scrunches up in what you have learnt to recognise as his thinking expression.

“It’s kind of a fucking long story,” he says finally. “It depends on whether you’re willing to lose time and risk permanent damage to your thinkpan due to the overall inanity of large parts of it.”

“I have spent the last two hours colouring with Crayola, and I’m sure that if I have the mental fortitude to listen to your moirail’s ramblings on the joys of butterflies then I can stomach a little backstory.” Karkat gives you a strange look, and for a moment you think you may have overstepped your bounds by bringing Gamzee into this, but then he shakes his head and puts his crayon down.

“Okay, but make sure Strider fucking listens, because I will not be talking over him for half the story.” Dave rolls his eyes, but takes off his sunglasses and leans back on his elbows. The mayor snuggles up next to him, and it’s such an adorable tableaux that you wish you could take a photo without either of them noticing. A soft thump gets your attention, and you look up to see that John has brought you a beanbag over along with one for himself, and you crawl on and allow yourself to sink down into it. Karkat readjusts so that he’s perched on his knees, hands in prime position for wild gesticulation. Looking around, he sees that everyone is ready to listen.

And so, he tells you his tale.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Sweeps in the past..._ **

**_(a fair few)_ **

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are scared.

Your fingers are scrabbling over Crabdad’s smooth white shell, desperately searching for purchase they cannot find. Every _thump_ of one of his feet hitting the ground jolts you, and you are terrified of slipping off. You are also blind.

Not because of any physical disability; even you, with the limited knowledge that a mere two sweeps of life can bestow, are aware that that is grounds for culling, and a far more difficult one to hide than blood colour. If you were blind, you’d already be dead.

No, you’re blind from the thick black cloth that Crabdad made you tie over your eyes before you left your hive several hours ago. Even through the cloth, the light of the sun sears your eyes, so you keep them shut tightly. Your clothes are drenched with sweat, your hands slick with it; it’s not making holding on any easier.

The air is dry enough that every inhale burns your nose and lungs, and whether your lip split before or after one of your fangs bit through it is questionable. The troll... the mustard blood with thick yellow scars running down his legs and arms... he’d said it was in the desert, on the very top of a rocky outcrop in the middle of nowhere. You hope you’re close.

Behind you, the sound of your pursuers grows louder. They’re yelling obscenities, delighting in what they’re gonna do ‘to the muttie once we catch him!’ It’s a word you’ve heard before, a harsh insult that trolls on the video box had spat at each other, usually before a strife to the death. Muttie... mutant, like you, the little candy blooded wiggler.

Then Crabdad stumbles and thoughts of trolls on the video box are banished as you go flying. The sand is rough, scraping you up all over as you plough into it, globs of it getting into your mouth. Pulling the cloth off, you squint against the burning light, keeping your eyes to the ground. There’s an arrow sticking out of one of Crabdad’s legs, and you can see the feet of the assailants as they run up. Crabdad is clicking at you, harsh noises that sound like _Go! Go, get out of here!_ and in your peripheral vision you can see the outcrop that the mustard blood had told you about. You try to speak, but it feels like you’ve swallowed the sand. You try to move, but your feet are bolted down.

Years later, when the humans tell you about their Olympic games, when they force you to watch some of the events and explain to a very disappointed Equius ‘no, they don’t execute the losers! What the hell?!’ you wonder if there was ever a Lusus version. If so, Crabdad certainly could have earned the gold in discus, or maybe hammer throw. Hell, maybe some combination of them with archery, with an aim like his.

Grabbing you in a great white claw by one skinny ankle, your custodian lobs you up... up... above the assailants, who had surrounded you... over the outcrop... yelling, you tumble downward, straight towards a swirling orange _thing_ embedded in the rock. The last thing you see before tumbling through is one of the assailant’s spears piercing Crabdad straight through.

You scream the whole way down.

* * *

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and until about thirty seconds ago you were contemplating the supreme shittiness of your life.

The only thing worse than the rainy season is the cold season, and the only thing worse than that is when the two overlap. It doesn’t rain but it pours, and then at night the frost creeps in, freezing your clothes into a crusty, icy mess of misery. Your nose is cold, your toes are cold, and you lost feeling in your toes two days ago.

But the building behind you is on fire, and that’s what’s holding your immediate attention.

It’s a seedy looking building, faded red paint cracked in some places and peeling off entirely in others. During the day it stands dark and empty, but at night the neon lights come on and trolls from all over the area flock to enjoy themselves at one of the only local Rust Clubs (TM).

Now people are screaming, pushing each other down as they try to reach one of the exits, busting through windows in a crash of shattered glass, and you can just stand and watch as the building is engulfed in flames. Perhaps if you stay here you’ll actually warm up- even if your left side does get a little crispy.

Then the gunshots start ringing out, and you turn tail and follow the crowd.

You’re stumbling along, unable to feel the gashes you’ve skinned into your knees and hands, and you’ve only made it about half a street when a long hand stretches out of a parked black car and grabs you, hauling you inside.

It has heated leather seats and vents in the front blast hot air into the car. You’re pushed back and down, into one of these seats, and can only stare up at the people opposite you.

There are two of them; one is a dersite, the biggest you’ve ever seen,  with broad shoulders and hands the size of your head. He stares down at you, face impassive same for a scowl tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“This is the companion you want?” his voice is rough, like gravel under a car tyre. It reverberates through the car, an absurdly deep bass that you can feel in your ribs, but his companion doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he replies, eyes fixed intently on you.

He’s a troll, but a young one- probably no older than you, but a lot better fed, and that shows. His horns tower, long and thin, almost scraping the roof of the car. In fact, everything about him seems tall and thin- he’s gangly, all limbs, with spindly fingers that look like the slightest pressure could snap them. But, you realise with dawning horror, staring at the purple symbol on his shirt, it’s probably the reverse- with the slightest pressure he could snap you.

And for some reason this makes you angry.

“Companion? And why the fuck would I want to hang out with people who have Casu marzu where their thinkpans should be? Do I look like some toy for you to play with, or a lost baby bark beast that will love you unconditionally the moment you give it a scrap, who’ll happily follow you home just for you to kick it to death? Like fuck I’m spending another moment in the same vehicle with two idiots who’ve lost their heads up their waste chutes!”

You pause to breathe, and the carapace looks about ready to clobber you, when the smaller troll begins to laugh. Just a chuckle at first, but before you have a chance to register exactly what’s going on he’s on the floor, howling with mirth and occasionally honking. The carapace relaxes.

“Kid,” he says, looking at you, “you are probably the luckiest little Mutt that I have ever met.”

* * *

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are running away.

It’s been a sweep since Gamzee and Boxcars swept you up off the street, and the time that has elapsed has been some of the most surreal of your life. You have met the Midnight Crew, and its figurehead, a fading relic from a distant age. The Grand Highblood likes to talk about the good old days of when the Ancestors was the most feared group of hardboiled criminals in the first and second realm. Now there are only two of them left, and since the Condy is apparently travelling through space looking for populations to conquer, he’s on his own.

Almost. In his last two trips to the first realm he came across Kurloz and Gamzee, who are both his descendants. Kurloz is nearly nine sweeps, and as such runs errands for the organisation, but you and Gamzee are both kept safely locked at home under the watchful eye of various members of the Crew. You want out though- you've seen what they're giving Gamzee, you've seen Kurloz come back dripping a myriad of different shades, and you'll be twice damned if you let you and your Moirail fall into this swirling clusterfuck of crime and apathy.

With you is Kanaya, a jade blood who joined the crew when she was five sweeps old and has been steadily rising through the ranks ever since. She’s checking the bags you have with you one last time, making sure everything is set, when Kurloz walks into the room.

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself, springing to your feet. “Kurloz, I know what it looks like, but we-“ He halts you with a raised hand, before signing something. Both you and Kanaya turn to Gamzee for a translation.

“No problem, my mad motherfuckers,” Gamzee replies dutifully, crooked grin showing off a few too many teeth. You have never understand the dynamic between him and Kurloz, not even since you became his moirail, but honestly it scares you a bit. If one was on the brink, you don’t think even they could say whether the other would help them back or push them off. “I’ve got wicked similar ideas jangling up in this thinkpan of mine.”

Kanaya opens her mouth to reply, but before she can Kurloz melts back out of the room, silently shutting the door behind him. She closes her mouth, glances down at the bags in her hands, then opens it again.

“Are we all ready to go?”

* * *

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you never thought you’d be so glad to see Spades Slick.

The cold season has come again, and the three of you have been camping in a run-down shack on the edge of a town near the Prospit side of the second realm. Kanaya’s clothes are ripped and stained, her face and arms streaked with dirt and scratches. You’re no better, and from where you’ve tied him in the corner Gamzee growls dangerously, eyes glowing red.

“First things first, give the kid this. It’ll do him a world of good.” You had thought you were being a good Moirail, getting Gamzee off drugs, but when you see the clear bag filled with fairy dust you have never felt so relieved. You quickly toss it to Kanaya, who sets to work administering it.

“Second, I got a proposition. You might have heard what happened recently?” It would be impossible not to have; Slick had staged a mutiny, had taken down the Grand Highblood- and had lost an arm and an eye for the trouble. The Midnight Crew is undergoing a massive reshuffle, and he's busy inserting himself into the top of the power vacuum. Law enforcement across the realm is freaking out, even more trigger happy than usual- as your left leg found out the hard way.

“Yeah,” is all you say, because you don’t trust yourself not to fuck this up.

“Yeah, well I got plans for this organisation. One of them is expansion. You find some people who are good at things, you get your act together and come up with a plan, and ol’ Slick can keep you supplied until you get on your feet. You get what I’m saying?” You do: he wants to pull you back in, you and Gamzee and Kanaya, get all of you involved in this dark underworld of illicit affairs, and every fibre of you wants to say no... but you can't see any other way. The three of you are hungry all the time, cold all the time, it's like being five sweeps old and living on the street again- except this time you're seven sweeps old and living on the street. There's just one thing you need to clarify...

“And you'd let me run this entire fucking group?"

“Near complete autonomy. I like you kid- just make sure you don’t fuck it up.” This said, he pushes himself to his feet, dumps another three bags of fairy dust on the table, and leaves. There is a beat of silence.

“How in the three realms does one go about starting a gang?” asks Kanaya, her clipped words coloured with worry. You turn back to her, and a much saner looking Gamzee.

“Guess we’re going to have to fucking figure it out.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Feferi is hard; it's hard. and no one understands.

** == > Rose: Meet with the princess **

It is a well known fact that the Derse-lands (as they are called by non-carapaces, who cannot imitate the correct noises) have a slightly different weather pattern to the rest of the second realm. While the majority of the second realm endures a two month cold season followed by a four month rainy season, the Derse-lands forego the rainy season altogether. What is less well known is that this was due to notorious hydrophobe Reelus Verita selling his soul for lack of rain. You, of course, with your extensive reading and your ability to store bits of information and inordinately long words with little to no effort, knew this all along. In the Derse-lands they have a five month mild season after the windy season, and then the cold season is only a month and a half, immediately followed by the dry season. Child’s play.

What none of your books told you is that the Derse-lands’ cold season is about 30° colder than in the rest of the realm.

Like a snail withdrawing into its shell, Beta along with all other business in the Derse-lands has stagnated. The head quarters is effectively on lockdown, with travel only permitted through portal. This isn’t because of any immediate threat, but because the door and window frames have all frozen shut, and the only way to get them open is to have Equius smash them for you.

As a result of this, everyone- save Nepeta, who is so deeply undercover not even Karkat knows her exact location- has been trapped inside for the past three weeks. It’s been frustrating to say the least, and tensions are running high. Dave threatened to remove all of Sollux’s limbs earlier, and Vriska has killed Aradia ten times in the past 48 hours. Eridan has attempted to flirt with anyone unfortunate enough to be in the same room as him in every way known to troll, and some that you think may only be known to leprechaun, and Kanaya...

You’re concerned for Kanaya.

In the cold season the clouds blanket the sky like steel beaten into dull sheets. The plants fade, if they do not die altogether, and all the living creatures go into hibernation lest they also perish. Noises seem muted, colours lacklustre, and even inside there is a constant chill that pervades the air, affecting everyone save those highest on the hemospectrum.

“I’m fine,” she had snapped at the end of the first week, when you noticed that her normally glowing white skin had turned... sallow. As the days passed, she began to vacillate between being so withdrawn she could barely bring herself to speak and being irritable and rude (a characteristic you’d never have thought would apply to Kanaya). Now, at the end of the third week, she seems to be reaching the end of her tether; there are deep bags under her eyes, and she flexes her fingers compulsively.

“Don’t get your human under-vestments in a twist: this happens every cold season. Leave her alone and she might not rip your protein chute out. And why in the name of Calliope’s lying face gash are you asking me? I’m not her fucking moirail.”

Talking to Karkat proved to be unhelpful.

Now you stand before the door and promise yourself that this time, you will knock. One... two... not yet. Okay, no, not yet. Perhaps you should decide what to say first...

Despite having been at Beta for several months, you did not meet Feferi until about a week ago. Before that, she’d been in the Prospit capital, schmoozing with some of the most important Goldies about things _very_ relevant to the gang’s interests- mainly preventing a change in Prospit’s laws regarding weapons. Having finally achieved her goals, she returned in a puff of pomp and splendour, gladly receiving the gifts from John that had piled up in her absence and brushing off Eridan’s advances like water off a duck.

Your first thought, meeting one of only three Tyrian bloods in existence, was that she was a parrot or other tropical bird: flashy, colourful, with large pretty eyes and a voice box not capable of much beyond repeating what you said back to you.

This notion was dispelled over the course of two conversations, during which you realised that a more accurate description is a snake, with jewel bright scales and a lightning fast strike. Feferi Peixes is very shrewd, and very good at working out what you want to hear; combined with an open demeanour, sweetness that could kill a diabetic, and the privileges afforded her by her status, she is _very_ dangerous. Not to say that she isn’t perfectly lovely- you just **do not** want her as your enemy, moreso than any other member of the gang.

You are a big enough person to admit that you are absolutely intimidated by her.

Finally, you swallow deeply, and give the door three sharp raps. Were they too sharp? Did you come across as aggressive? What if-

The door is thrown open and Feferi beams out at you. Despite the chill- which is enough to have you wearing you gloves and a scarf- she is in nothing more than a floaty cotton dress, with bare feet and her waves of curling her only just barely contained in the towel she has wrapped around her head.

“Rose!” she exclaims, and pulls you in for a rib-splintering hug. “What are you doing here? No, wait, come in first! No one but Eridan ever visits me, and he’s such a boring old blobfish! Can you believe we used to be Moray-eels?” You’re not given a chance to reply: she all but pushes you down onto a sofa, which bobs as you land. Completely unsurprisingly, the cushions are filled with water. Everything in the room adheres to a marine theme, in the same way as everything Eridan touches has to be nautical in some way. Seadwellers...

“I was wondering-“ you begin, but are cut off by a large iced bun being shoved into your mouth.

“We can glub all we want later,” she says, shredding her own with needle-like teeth. “But food comes first!” She scoffs another five as you finish your first and politely turn down a second. After pouring tea out, she finally leans back against the cushions. “Now! I know you didn’t come to visit just for the halibut! What did you want to carp aboat?”

“I’m actually here to ask for a favour,” you say cautiously, ‘testing the waters’ as the princess opposite you would say.

“A frond in need is a frond indeed! Is it sea-rious?”

“Fairly. Sollux mentioned you breed fish, and I was wondering if you cultivate any sunfish?” Her smile drops, rich eyes darkening.

“If you’re planning on krilling my fish-“

“No!” You quickly cut in. “No. It’s for Kanaya- I believe she has what humans call Seasonal Affective Disorder, and I think this could help her.”

In all honesty, you’re clutching at straws. When you went to consult you orb, as you have been doing more and more frequently lately, it had simply shown a bobbing ‘try again later.’

“Why would the horrorterrors want to help you make light?” said Dave when you told him. “It would be like getting a slug to help you make salt- it ain’t gonna happen.

The sunfish is a last resort- you’re hoping that you can cast a spell of literalness on it, to make it glow with the light of a sun. You explain this all to Feferi, who relaxes back into an easy smile.

“Well shore! Kanaya has been _reely_ crabby lately!” She draws back a curtain, revealing a huge aquarium behind, and sticks her head in. It takes you a second to realise the odd wailing noise is coming from her, but soon there are three of four small yellow fish bobbing next to her head. Scooping two out, the sea dweller places them into bowls before turning back to you.

“Here you are! I hope they make Kanaya feel better!” As you return down the corridor there is a cheerful “Smooth sailing!” before the door shuts.

You are very glad that the two of you are on the same side.

 

** == > Karkat: Be a good moirail **

Shuttered in your office, you growl and gnash your teeth and rage internally as you wait for Tavros to arrive. You’re itching for something to _do_ , something, anything to keep your mind occupied in this fucking cold season; but Kanaya is in depressive vampire kill mode, and Sollux has been having problems with his bees dying of hypothermia, and Gamzee-

Well. That’s why you’re waiting around in here instead of going to talk to Jade, or maybe hunt out Terezi for-

A timid knock halts your thoughts before they can go any further, and you wrench the door open. Nitram’s stood on the other side, clutching the note you’d had sent to him- GET YOUR FUCKING ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW- and looking more than slightly terrified.

“You... you wanted me?”

“Yeah, I did,” you snap, tugging him in and slamming the door shut behind him. The robotic legs whir in protest, but you ignore them, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the window. “What the fuck do you call this?”

“The, garden?”

“Are those oversized horns screwed in where your fucking thinkpan should be? Why in the name of Captor’s left nook would I call you up here for something so mind-numbingly retarded as that? I’m not Strider’s fucking pet carapace, Nitram, I can tell not to lick the bottle marked with a skull and I know that a garden is a fucking garden!” You hate yourself as soon as you say it, and the look on Tavros’ face says that he hates you a little bit for that last comment too. Of all the past Karkats and future Karkats you’ve met, present you is the worst. “Get out.”

“But-“

“Get the fuck out of my office right now, Nitram, or I will personally see to it that your-“

“I’m going, I’m, uh going,” he says hurriedly, hands raised as though you might hit him, completely ignoring the fact that you’re about half his weight and just one of his biceps is the size of your head. You can see them straining even under his thick coat. “But do you want me to, well, fetch Gamzee. You just, uh, you seem really, well...” He trails off and you let yourself deflate, tapping the glass to draw his attention to the far corner of the garden.

Out in the freezing cold, among snow drifts up to his waist, Gamzee is waltzing alone to no music. His face is serene, blissed out on enough fairy dust to kill a cholerbear. The ever-present spotted trousers, speckled with the blood of countless other trolls, are soaked through, sticking to his scrawny legs, and even from here you can see icicles beginning to form on his horns.

“How did he even get out there?”

“Shoot me if I know, Nitram, but do you see the problem?”

“Well, he is a highblood-“ begins Tavros, but you cut him off.

“It’s not the fucking cold I’m worried about, it’s my fucking moirail. How much has he been taking?”

“I don’t really, well, know? He’s sort of allowed to just come in and, uh, help himself, per your, your order.” You grit your teeth and resist the urge to bang your head against the glass.

“Too much. Too much is the right fucking answer. I saw him chatting with a consort in the corridor yesterday- chatting. In fact, I would say he was being downright fucking personable. He crashed the car last time we sent him to do a body dump, and the next morning the fucking body was found in a fountain. He hasn’t-“ You stop yourself before that last sentence gets out- _He hasn’t come to me for a feelings jam in more than two months, and when I try to find him he’s never fucking there._ A lump rises in your throat.

“Do you want me to, uh, cut him off? Like, cold turkey?” Tavros, as usual, is oblivious, but his question snaps you back to reality.

“Has your gorm taken a holiday to the Prospit-lands? No, you imbecile; just- just record how much he takes over the next week, and then bring that to me. I’ll decide what to do from there. Understood?” He nods, and moves to leave. “Oh, and Tavros- file this under rule five.” The Taurus hesitates, then nods again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as the door shuts behind him.

If something is filed under rule five, the person will only tell it if rule five is specifically invoked- which, as Rose soon learned, is rarely. After all, demanding to know everything about someone is the fastest path to finding yourself being emergency-saved by Feferi. Your agreement with Tavros will stay on the down low.

Then you look back out the window and dread once again seeps into your heart as you watch your moirail sway to the tune of an invisible song. You’re stressed beyond belief- the tension feels like it’s trying to break you, to snap you in half and then rip you into tiny pieces, nothing left but a pile of Karkat dust for some idiot to walk over. When you talk, you can hear that your voice is higher, almost reedy, and your hands have been shaking; you don’t know when the last time you managed anything more than a nap was.

Watching Gamzee, you wish that it was as easy as taking a huff of powder and letting your problems melt away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this- I've been out in Swaziland doing charity work, which kind of took priority. Since most of this chapter was written after a 30-hour journey, sorry if it's a bit... off. As usual, I would love any feedback!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author: Attempt 'romance'

** == > Rose: Attempt ‘sincerity’ **

By the time you have reached Kanaya’s block, you have gotten yourself thoroughly worked up; the natural course of action is to knock without giving yourself a chance to mentally prepare what you are going to say.

“What?” snaps a voice from inside, and if you didn’t know for certain that the only one with access to that room is Kanaya then you would think it was someone impersonating her. “What reason could you possibly have for disturbing me? If the building is burning, I am quite content to remain here. If you have developed a peculiar brand of sadomasochism and have come to offer your blood for consumption, I’m not at all sorry to reveal that I am fully sated. If there is an urgent development regarding Angel Blood, go talk to Karkat. If you are Karkat, fuck off especially. Nothing you have to say is of any interest to me, so I recommend you leave right now before the consorts have to come remove your internal organs from the light fittings.”

“Kanaya, you have three seconds to open this door before I send for Karkat to give me the override code and stage an intervention.” Diplomacy? You have an extensive vocabulary, but you are quite sure you have never heard that word.

“Rose, I took you for a being of higher intelligence than a mollusc; leave now, and I may be able to maintain that opinion.” Her voice is strained, ill and exhausted sounding, and with her politeness and reservations stripped away the resemblance to Karkat is uncanny; you are reminded of how long they have known each other, and wonder which one picked it up from the other.

“Three!... two!... one and a half!.. One and a quar-“

“You are quite possibly the most insuffera-oh.” She throws open the door, eyes puffy, face clear of makeup, and for a moment simply stands there, stunned, basking in the light of the dazzlingly bright fishbowl you cup in your hands. “Oh,” she repeats.

“Better?” There is a small smile playing on your lips that you are shocked to realise isn’t a smirk- it is genuine, small but there, and you are so surprised you almost drop the fish, keeping your hold by just the tips of your fingers. You quickly pass her the bowl, and she continues to sun herself like a lizard on a rock, eyes shut in bliss.

“ _So_ much better. Your human tongues are too limited to fully express how much better I feel.”

“What about Alternian?” She cracks open one eye, and her smile turns wry.

“There is one phrase- ‘As good as the morning’s first jugular.’” It takes a moment for that to sink in, and when it does you snort.

“Charming. I think in English- at least, in redneck- you might say ‘even better than sex.’” It’s her turn to snort, hard enough that you have to grab the bowl back before the water and absurdly luminous fish are slopped everywhere. They really are ridiculous- bright enough that it hurts to even glance at them; a visual version of the elephant in the room.

“Would you like to come in?” she asks. Her eyes are already brighter, and she seems far calmer than she did just minutes ago. “Blood probably won’t be to your taste, but I have some lovely Cameowmile that Nepeta gave me last Gristmas.”

“I would love to,” you tell her regretfully- because you really, really, _really_ would, “but I have a summons from our intrepid... what is the term John uses?”

“Palhoncho; I am fairly certain it was the primary reason for Karkat’s three season black crush on him. What are the summons for?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She scans the note you show her- LALONDE. ROOM 183. ASAP. (ps c0uld y0u bring y0ur magic sticks? 0u0 )- and lifts an eyebrow.

“It seems urgent. You should probably go.” Her voice is rueful, and it is this which gives you the courage to do what you do next.

“I hope you feel better- I mean continue to feel better- get even better than you are now- you understand what I mean!” And going up on tiptoes (because Roxy was clearly swimming in a different gene pool when she inherited her height) you press a kiss to her lips.

“Oh,” she says again when you break away, and you think she may be going to say something else. You think, but you shall never know for sure, because like a house of cards faced with a summer breeze, your courage crumbles and you flee.

 

** == > Hours in the past (okay, less than one) **

** == > Karkat: Regret life **

“Is it possible,” you muse, “for a single member of this organisation to perform a single action that doesn’t make us all look like fucking psychopaths?”

“Uh,” is Equius’ articulate reply, a thin sheen of sweat breaking down on his forehead. You’re both stood, staring at a partially dismembered corpse that’s leaking blood all over your new carpet. The carpet that has to be replaced at least twice a week due to the exact same circumastances, and perhaps you should look into getting hardwood floors instead. Or linoleum; that would probably be easy to clean.

“Don’t answer that.” It’s definitely from Nepeta at least- if the pattern of mutilation wasn’t enough of a giveaway, she’s helpfully carved her sign into both cheeks and the chest. You prod it with the toe of your boot and grimace. “Go fetch Megido.”

“Uh,” Equius repeats, and sweats harder. You roll your eyes and turn to him.

“NOW!” He scrambles out of the room in a flurry of ‘yes, sir’s and depravity, and you grimace again. The fact that a sizeable amount of confidential information comes to you via cadaver is not a highlight of your life- not a peak, nor an upwards slope, nor even a downward slope. You wouldn’t go so far as to call it the nadir, just because you are reserving that privilege for something so jaw-droppingly shitty it melts your eyes out, but in the diagram of life’s ups and downs it would definitely be a trough.

Thing is, written messages- the sort that normal people send- are easily intercepted. Even encrypted, it doesn’t take a genius (or Sollux on a bad day) to crack them, no matter how well you think you’ve coded it. Bodies, though: if they intercept a body on its way over, they’re going to either think that someone else is trying to send you a warning, or they’ll think it’s someone sending proof that a hit’s been completed. They’re not going to think that the body itself is carrying a message.

“You called?” Aradia comes trip-trapping into the room, balancing precariously on three inch heels that you just know are hiding blades or poison darts or some shit like that, because it’s Aradia and you don’t expect anything less from her. “Ah,” she says, catching sight of the corpse; “I suppose you want me to do the death-y thing?”

“Only if it’s no fucking bother.” The Ares grimaces a smile at you, then flashes you a genuine grin, glares at Equius and rolls her eyes back into her head.

“Zahnak?” you ask, and he snaps to face you. “I know you shouldn’t look a bestowed-musclebeast in the mouth,” the sheen appears again, and you immediately wish you’d used a different phrase, “but why in the fuck are you clammed up tighter than Kankri’s asshole?”

“Forgive me, sir,” he begins, and you barely repress a shudder. “It’s simply that I fear for my moirail; I find it difficult to communicate with this anxiety always hoofering at the back of my mind. Though I know that she is a good warrior, she is not **strong** like I am, and I do not like not being around to keep her safe.”

“You do realise you don’t actually keep her safe round here? And this is pretty much one of the most dangerous fucking environments in Skaia.”

“For most, perhaps, but the organisation treats her, and indeed the rest of us...” he swallows around the word ‘FRAF’, never having dealt with its 'loodness' well “members with a modicum of respect that behove our superior status. In this building, there is dignity and class and-“ Whatever he was about to say next is cut off as a the vent cover drops to the floor with a clang, followed by a charred cat skeleton. It watches you for a second or two with empty, baleful eyes, then wanders over to the corpse and begins to eat it.

“What in the fuck-“ you start to say.

“I won’t do it!” yells a voice, and the lights in the room go dark- Aradia’s made a connection. “I won’t do it, and you can’t- ah!” The astral projection- ghost- what-the-fuck-ever in front of you flinches back, and the signature triple slice of Nepeta’s claws appears on his arm. “Why? What will it do for you?” He yelps and flinches back from what you can only imagine was another swipe. “Fine! Fine! What was it again?”! He pauses, clearly listening to someone, then repeats back slowly “He called himself the Aimless Renegade. He was in charge of a weapons group fifty years ago. Find him, beclaws- be-claws? Ah! Okay, okay, beclaws!- he was the last one to have the ring.” Equius makes a small grunt- of approval or squeamishness, you don’t care either way- as the ghost is impaled before you, and relives a guttural, choking death.

“Fucking delightful,” you mutter; Equius doesn't reply and Aradia is still shaking on the floor and the skeleton cat looks up at you with a ‘mew.’ Great. You open the door and snag the nearest consort by the neck, causing it to drop the teetering pile of scrolls it was carrying. “Paper?” It hands you a post-it note, along with the gray pen that all consorts carry just for situations like this. You quickly scribble out a note and hand it back. “Get this to Lalonde- no delays.” It chatters an affirmation and turns to scurry off before Aradia- apparently now awake again- grabs it.

“Note?” It churs uncertainly, but you nod and so it passes it over. She adds a quick post-script, and hands it back. Blinking, eyes hooded and unfocused, she smiles wildly and holds out her hands. “Kitty!” The skeleton cat leaps into her arms with a purr, and you fail to resist the urge to massage your temples.

“Why is this day not over yet?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. My computer charger broke, and I have been without laptop for the past 2 weeks. It was difficult. Pity me.

** == > Be Rose, briefly **

The light of half a dozen candles on the floor between you and Aradia flickers gently, casting dancing tracks across her face. Her eyes are still vacant from communing with the reaper; half lidded and staring straight forward, you do your best not to meet them. To one side is Karkat, who seems to have given up on actual words or shouting, and is instead stood mumbling incoherent angry noises to himself. Between his feet sits Jaspers, a wide smile on his bony skull face; you can’t help but smile back- he’s sooty and charred, but he walked halfway across Skaia just to find you and if that doesn’t brighten your day then the unease with which Karkat keeps glancing at him certainly does.

“Do you understand how it’s going to work?” Aradia hums. You turn back to her and nod, clutching the wand a bit tighter and drawing on your power. Her eyes roll back into her head, and then suddenly there’s a sharp pain all over and you’re flying.

The colours fly by almost too fast for you to make out, searing citrines and vermilions and turquoises making your eyes water, they’re so bright. Wind rushes past you, yanking your hair, trying to rip your skin from your flesh, and you can feel yourself aging as you travel- fingers withering, joints tightening. Death, death rules here, and you’re not allowed entry until you submit yourself to it.

Slowly you become aware of a hand clutching yours, and forcing yourself to look over you see Aradia. If you could have opened your mouth to scream, you probably would have. As it is, you stare, transfixed in horror.

Covering large swathes of her body is metal, rusted in places, bright in others; it’s bionics, like Vriska’s arm or Tavros’ legs, but then again different somehow. What looks like a butterfly wing dangles, limp and torn, from one shoulder blade. There are deep lines seared into the exposed skin of her arms and legs, running up under some orange pyjama things, ripped to the point that they’re wrapped around her like a mummy’s bandages rather than being worn as clothes. Her face is the worst, though- one eye is the deep blue of a highblood, the other gouged out altogether. Her skin is peeling back, leaving sections of skull exposed- you can see her fangs through a hole in one cheek, and before your eyes another strip gets ripped off and disappears. Rot is spreading through the bone, turning it brown, making it crumble to dust. She is deteriorating before your eyes.

 _You don’t look much better_ her voice echoes around your head. She seems completely lucid- your body being mauled by death and time probably _would_ dispel any calm.

 _What’s going on?_ You think back, and she smiles, making the holes in her face bunch and pucker.

 _We’re reflecting our own deaths in alternate timelines- an infinite number of possible other ways our lives could have gone_. You wonder what sort of timeline she was in that she got _butterfly wings_ , but do not get a chance to express that thought. _There, Rose- that point there! Can you bring us to it?”_

As it turns out, you can, and you are engulfed in a light so cold that it burns. You feel your identity, your sense of self slipping away, and though you try to clutch onto it, Aradia’s mind nudges yours- _Let it go._

You do, and are swallowed.

 

** == > Rose: Become the Aimless Renegade **

Rose? The only Rose you know of are the Rose Grenades, recently developed by some blue blooded trolls up north; useful things them, but not good for high impact attacks- you generally use them as warnings.

The desert slowly swings past as you and your crew ride through. You’re down three members- there weren’t enough mules for all of you plus the loot you’ve collected, so you shot them last night. Berret is still gnawing on a rib, but Berret is a little freak. Fucking cannibals; you’d have shot him instead, but he’s useful. Besides, it’s good to have a way to get rid of the bodies- stops the law enforcement coming after you.

Not that there’s much law enforcement round these parts. Lives are tough, and the people are tougher; anyone stupid enough to don a sheriff’s badge is killed faster than a rabbit in a dingo pen. The hamlets look out for themselves, always ready to defend against the bandits and the vagabonds.

Too bad they’ve never dealt with a renegade.

“Dwelling up ahead, about a mile off,” Sorrel calls. Nice girl, Sorrel. Sure, she’s a troll, but she’s the only one who doesn’t get confused by distance in this goddamn desert. Plus, she had her knuckle bones replaced with steel a couple of years back, and let the skin heal over to give her the meanest punch in the second realm. Too bad she doesn’t go for couplings, or for quadrants or whatever non-carapaces are calling them these days.

“There ain’t no dwelling there; it don’t say so on the map.” Poker; afraid of loud noises, talks to snakes, is convinced everything that needs knowing can be found already written down. Voice like a shrew, but good at finding gold- a fella has to have at least one redeeming quality.

“Yeah? Well then tell me what that big tall thing is.” Poker squints and then sighs.

“Not a real dwelling... don’t say so on the map...”

You press forward. It’s a hot day, one of the hottest you ever felt and this exposure isn’t exactly conducive to staying cool. Water would be good, and food too; you have both, of course, but more is always welcome. As you approach, however, it becomes clear that no one lives there- hell, probably no one lived there for a hundred years.

“Told you it’s not a real dwelling,” Poker mutters. You glare at him over your shoulder before turning to your right-hand man Lauret, who’s riding on your left.

“Any ideas?”

“It’s an outpost,” he says, eyes raking over the buildings. “Prospit army, back during the war. Doesn’t look like anyone has been here since, except maybe when they were leaving after the win was announced. Probably a training camp.”

“Yeah, I can see the lines on the field where they would have done training.” Sorrel is perched on her tiptoes on the tip of the saddle. Beneath her, the mule snorts and shakes, and she lands back in her seat with a _thump_ , looking over to grin at you. “So, boss, whaddya reckon? Shall we see if we can find any antique explosives?”

“If anything it’s a place to rest for the night,” you decide. “Okay, everyone dismount! Unsaddle the mules and let’s see if we can find a working tap anywhere. Berret, Sorrel, you’re in charge of dinner- **no meat that was sentient**. Lauret, Milos- Oy, MILOS!” She jerks awake with a snort, shooting you a sheepish smile. “You two go and see if you can find anything in here- maybe a safe or something like that, I don’t know how the prospitians work. Poker- what in the fuck are you doing?” He’s sniffing furiously, an expression of pure greed on his face.

“It was here,” he mutters, dismounting his mule. “It was here; this, this was the last place she had it before she- oh yes, oh yes.”

“Care to share with the class, Poker?” Sorrel drawls. He turns to face everyone, a manic grin stretching his face.

“The white queen’s ring- it was here!”

He’s probably expecting a better reaction than the one he gets; most of you just look at him, save for Lauret.

“How do you know what it smells like?”

“How do I know what it smells like? How do I know, how do I- it was the White Queen’s ring, of course I fucking know it when I smell it. It... it... don’t you...?” Poker blinks at him, and turns to the rest of you, meeting your blank stares with a blank stare of his own.

“Want to elaborate?” you say finally, when it all just gets to be too ridiculous.

“The white queen. You know- leader of the Prospit army?” Nods all round, and you motion for him to continue. “Well, she had this ring, right? Super powerful- got it from her denizen in a dream more than a thousand years before the war broke out. Anyway, she had the ring and with it she was all set to win the war.”

“Why didn’t she use it to start with?” He levels a glare at Sorrel, who holds her hands up. “What? It’s a valid question- if this ring is so super powerful, why was there a war in the first place?”

“I don’t know; what am I, some sort of historian? Fact of the matter is, she didn’t. But she was going to then- she was all ready to go or whatever- and all the armies and stuff were lining up for the final battle. You do know that, right?”

“Battle of Chequered Square,” says Berret, and Poker nods.

“Yeah. Only something happened- right at the beginning of the battle, something went wrong; the queen lost her ring. She lost their ultimate weapon.”

“But they won the war, didn’t they? Or am I missing something?” It’s Lauret who answers this time.

“They won, but not because of any tactical advantage. One of the derse officers fucked up, led three thousand carapaces straight into enemy weapons. It was a massacre, and the Prospit army won.” A tap on the arm almost makes you startle, and you turn to see Reg, the only human in your group. He smiles wryly.

“Half a league, half a league, half a league onward. Into the valley of death rode the three hundred.” You stare, and he shrugs. “As nice as it is sitting around here sharing gossip that’s only 150 years out of date, do we have a plan? For, you know, the present?”

“Yeah, we do,” you tell him coolly, before turning to everyone as a whole. “We’re going to spend the night here. Tomorrow we’re going to strip it bare. After that,” your eyes slide to Poker, “we’re going to find this weapon.”

* * *

It takes more than weeks, more than months; there are no calendars out here, no clocks to mark the time as it passes. Only the slight shifts in temperature and the movement of the moons gives any sign that time is passing at all. The Deserted Strip doesn’t have seasons, not in the way that the rest of Skaia does: it just goes from baking to roasting to frying and then loops back round again.

Milos shoots Reg and then runs off, only for you to find her dried and mummified corpse in an abandoned town what you guess are weeks later. Berret eats two more people before coming down with some weird disease and dying in the middle of the night. Sorrel loses a hand and you earn a long scar right across your face during a shootout. A number of the others leave and some more join, an endless cycle of coming and going that leaves you feeling wrung out and old.

You travel right into the centre of the desert, all the way to the site of the battle of Chequered Square. Every few steps someone dislodges a skull in the sand, flat teeth grinning out at you either howlite white or ebony black, and there are still broken arrows and weapons littered around despite the fight having been fought more than a century ago. In the middle of the battlefield, there is a river, sluggish and murky, and here Poker pauses, breathing deep.

“So long,” he says, “longer here than anywhere else we’ve been.”

“A bit more specific,” you tell him. “What are talking- days, months?”

“Years.” He closes his eyes, swaying slightly- almost high on the scent of the gold. “Not many though; five, maybe ten, but no more than that. Someone found it- found it, and took it away…” His eyes snap open. “That way.”

You start asking questions as you travel, interrogating the people you’re robbing and smooth talking everyone else. As you follow the scent, rumours start to present themselves to you- people mention a war survivor, talk about a dersite that doesn’t die.

“They say he goes from town to town,” one bar wench tells you as she fills your tankard, “’fixing’ them. He murders the murderers, the abusers, anyone he doesn’t like the look of- he purges the whole town. Then he takes their money, and rides off again. No one can beat him in a fight- they can’t even shoot him in the back. They say he lost his afterlife in a game of cards with death, and now he can’t die. Like a ghost, but still alive- having to wander forever.”

“I’m so sure,” is your reply, but when Sorrel hands you a bag of dried fennel to wear around your neck you don it without argument.

Poker’s eyes stay wide open, wide enough that you can see the red around them, even when he sleeps. Half of the stuff he says is nonsense, the other all to do with the ring, and though you’ve always slept with a gun you start to keep your finger on the trigger.

One day, finally, you reach an abandoned hut. It’s almost cold for a day in the desert, and you pull your cloak around you. Times have been hard, and the people you rob laugh in your face, offering to help you look for any valuables worth stealing; your cloak is patched with yellow rags, your wrists too skinny, but you’re still the fastest fucking shot in the second realm.

“You saying it’s in here?”

“Yes... I can almost taste it...” You nod to Sorrel, and she pulls out her gun and shoots him in the head, mouth a grim gash in her face. As the body lies there, leaking blood, your eyes meet: the last two, and you both know that if you don’t find what you’re looking for in the hut then you’ll be found like Milos, if you’re ever found at all. Without another word, you enter.

The hut is cool, boarded windows blocking out any warmth the sun may have provided, and in the corner wrapped in rags sits a dersite. He asks you your names, looking unconcerned that there are six barrels pointed at his head and a Rose Grenade nestled in the crook of Sorrel’s stump.

“That’s Sorrel, and you can call me Renegade. The real question is, who are you?” He says that that’s not much of a question for guests to be asking, and offers you soup. You decline. Well then, he says, what about a refreshing beverage. He has some-

“Cut the crap,” snaps Sorrel “and show us your hands. You have something, and we want it.” Not a beverage? “Not. A fucking. Beverage.”

He doesn’t see why he should comply. It’s not like you can hurt him. You laugh at this, because he’s probably the weakest order of carapace you’ve ever seen, with noodle arms and legs that look like stretched out tumbleweed thorns. He laughs too, and pulls from under his torn shirt a chain with a gold ring hanging off it. Sorrel shoots him and he laughs again.

“What are you?” you demand, and he tells you that he’s impervious to attacks on his life. That the ring makes him so. The only way he can be killed is unintentionally. You try and shoot him, and the wound heals before it even starts to bleed, and then there are you and Sorrel both just stood there firing rounds into him as he watches with a kind of apathetic boredom. As you shoot, he asks you why you even want the ring. What will you use it for? Are you really still shooting? It clearly isn’t working.

“Fine,” says Sorrel, throwing down her arms. “We don’t even need to kill you. Little twig like you, soon you won’t even be walking straight, let alone defending any valuables.” She pulls back her fist and lands a punch that sends him flying. Fate was on your side when it let her keep the hand with built in knuckle dusters. You drop your own guns and kick him as he gasps for breath. You’re both kicking him, and then you heave him up and smash him through his own table while Sorrel grabs a frying pan off the wall to have at it.

He’s still moving, coughing up blood and twitching weakly, when you bend down and grab the ring. One sharp tug snaps the chain, and you gently pet the side of his head.

“Wouldn’t you rather you were dead,” you say and-

-and-

-a---and---and—a-and

 

***

 

The memory dissolves. You are Rose again and life is wonderful. It is fantastic. Your body realises that you are still alive, and it’s so happy for you. So, so, so happy for you. It gives you endorphins, and you are high on life.

“What happened?” Karkat is saying somewhere above you. “Oh gods, please not this again. What the fuck happened? I am the leader, and I order you to tell me what you learned. Aradia? Rose? For fuck’s sake, fetch the consort to get them out of here, I’m not dealing with this.”

As a wave of Salamanders heaves you onto their backs, you start to giggle. It’s amazing that someone can block their memories. That a dead person can stop you. You want to do that. It sounds fun. _It sounds_ you think, eyelids drooping, _like the best thing ever._


	16. Chapter 16

_T’was the night before Dersing and throughout headquarters,_

_The members were stirring, despite Karkat’s orders._

 

Your name is Equius Zahnak, and you had hoped that brushing the hoof-beasts would help to calm your galloping mind. So far, it doesn’t seem to be working.

“They believe me an imbecile,” you tell a palomino as you drag your brush down its flank. “I am not an imbecile. Though I would not argue myself to be intelligent in a way that most are not, I am still certain that I am not an imbecile.” It watches you with wise eyes, breath steaming despite the electric heaters in every stall. “I am simply inarticulate.”

You recall your conversation with Karkat the day before and feel yourself blush blue. Unable even to properly express your fears for Nepeta to him, your disquiet that grows with every day that passes and no word of her arrives. She can’t, you know she can’t, not with this weather and the portal block and her comparatively warm blood, but if anything this knowledge makes you more anxious. What if something happened to her? You’d have no way of knowing, not for the last four days of absolute cold, and perhaps even longer than that depending on how long it takes to thaw.

The palomino starts and whips its tail, catching you in the face.

“Sh,” you soothe, “shoosh. It does not do for a noble muscle beast to be afraid.” You pause, before resuming brushing. “And perhaps, here lies the root cause of my inarticulacy. I am so filled with contradictions, in what I believe and what I know and what I desire... I can barely think, let alone speak what’s on my mind.” The horse knickers and bows its head, as though gesturing for you to continue. You are more than willing to comply.

“For example, Karkat Vantas. He is the leader of this organisation, and mentally I know that this is absolutely the way it should be. None of us, save perhaps the jade blood Kanaya, would handle it so well, and even she would have difficulty rousing us in the same way that he does. But the highest blood should lead, and in our organisation that is Feferi Peixes, with the same blood hue as the Empress herself. However, I’m also filled with the natural enmity found between land-dwellers and sea-dwellers, and want the highest ranking land-dweller to rule in her stead. Since that title falls to Makara, clearly it is an absurd thought, but one that refuses to stop cantering around my mind...” you trail off, blushing. Even though you know they don’t understand you, it’s always felt silly to make words hoof-beast related in front of the hoof-beasts.

“Then,” you quickly continue, “there is the matter of his mutation. Not even on the hemospectrum, his blood is a most disgraceful scarlet- not unlike your own, but for a muscle beast it is noble. For a troll, it is not. Whenever I think on it, I feel the need to cull, quickly and ruthlessly, with one **strong** punch to the neck. This is clearly due to my conditioning, which I endured as a grub, and I know it to be wrong, but in the same way how can it be wrong? Mutants are to be abhorred, yet I must accept orders from one, and worse, know that he is the best person I could be accepting orders from.” You sigh deeply, and reach for your towel. “It is a most difficult situation.”

The hoof-beast leans forward and nuzzles your face, breath warm and tickling. Despite yourself, you smile, and reach out to carefully pet it.

“Perhaps I shall ask Jade to make me a hoof-beast. Then there will be no need to trouble myself with these matters.”

 

Your name is Dave, and fuck yeah- it’s almost your turn.

There’s a group of you sat around in the plush beanbag chairs of one of the FRAF living rooms. Bowls of kettle chips, cheese puffs and other delicious party snacks are being passed around as you watch Eridan tell his story. It’s fucking hilarious, all big hand gestures and putting on voices for the characters, like you’re in a pantomime. Granted, no one except Aradia and sometimes Vriska actually manages to be scary during Dersing Eve Spooky Stories (blame Egderp for the name), but gods- if Eridan keeps this up he’s going to rupture something.

“And aaaasss the captain settled back into his quarters, he heard the sound from below deck again! Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch.”

It’s taking everything you ever learnt about stoicism to keep from cracking up, and it doesn’t help that on the other side of the room Terezi’s wiggling her eyebrows at you, smile sharp as a rusted nail. Vriska’s watching with half a smirk curling her upper lip, and you’re pretty sure Eridan’s retelling the plot from one of their old FLARP sessions. Feferi has given up on it altogether, and Aradia sits quietly as she weaves some intricate nautical pattern into the long hair. Sollux is grimacing, maybe in pain, and as you look at him he suddenly gets up and storms out the room. Aradia bats away Feferi’s hands and follows; Eridan doesn’t even notice to pause, but it is enough to start John back awake.

“And the next morning, they all woke up... dead.” Eridan grins around the room as though expecting a standing ovation, only to be met with blank stares.

“Right,” you finally drawl, pushing yourself to your feet. “My turn!” There’s a collective groan from half the room, and a cheer from the rest, particularly Terezi. Like fuck you actually try to tell anything scary- that would be so fucking uncool your swag-lexicon (swagicon?) doesn’t even have a word for it. “Please, hold your applause; Terezi, put your tongue away.” She sniggers and complies, but begins to breathe heavily through her mouth instead. Behind your shades, you roll your eyes. “Listen up, children. Tonight, I am going to relay to you, through the epic medium of rap: the warning of the stairs.”

Fuck, where are Gamzee and Tavros? They’d love this shit. Or Rose, she’s actually not too bad at dropping rhymes so ill the nurses won’t even let them leave the bed, let alone allow visitors in. You’ll have to settle for John, who’s already giggling even though you haven’t yet started. Fucking idiot; you have to love the guy.

“In an old house fourteen stories tall/ Between the closed train station and abandoned mall/ At the time of night where the shadows die/ Passing into blackness with barely a sigh/ There was a dude that I will call Hella Jeff/ Who always knew he was the fucking best/ Called up his-“

You are interrupted mid-line by a scream and a flash of scarlet light.

There, in the centre of the room, stands another Dave- must be future, because you certainly haven’t done this in the past. He’s shades free, normally ripped jeans hanging in tatters, blood-spattered, reaching out like he’s trying to grab something. No one moves, makes a sound- you’re all too shell-shocked, staring at him as he shakes and shivers and seems to choke one sobs that wrack his body.

“It doesn’t fucking work,” he eventually chokes out, turning to look you straight through your shades, straight in the eye. “Nothing. Fucking. Works.” There are tears streaming down his face, catching in grooves that have been scratched into his cheek, and then next moment he is gone.

“Okay, Coolkid,” says Terezi shakily, after what feels like an age has passed. “Very scary.” Everyone’s staring at you, wide eyed, and you’re just staring back. You have no idea what to say. “You got us. Mr Blueberry Tart, I believe you’re next.”

“Um, yeah,” says John, still not looking away from you. He climbs to his feet, and you trade places; you feel numb. “Sure. Mine’s called Antiquated Dust.”

As he witters on, you clench your fists to hide their trembling, and try to work out what, what could have possibly happened to prompt that. Perhaps it was a stray Dave from another timeline, lost- you’ve had them before. Perhaps you fucked up your rap really badly, and future you was stopping that from happening, and is already waiting in your quarters to explain the plan. Perhaps Egderp talked you into a prank.

Your mind flashes back to the anguished eyes of the other Dave. God, you really hope that’s the case.

 

Your name is Jade Harley, and god fucking damnit.

“Why the fuck do we operate from such a large building?” you pant, wheezing. Running next to you, robot legs whirring, Tavros is looking annoyingly unruffled.

“Well, we are a fairly large, organisation, and we need lots of room to work. Also, due to the, well, large number of trolls, it makes sense to have, a good amount of room, for us to-“

“It was a rhetorical question!” The two of you skid to a halt in the consorts’ mess hall, and all eyes in the room swivel to face you. “Oy! We have an escaped troll! I repeat, an escaped olive blood, dosed up on two weeks’ worth of angel blood! Find them, and then call it in! Don’t touch them if you still like living!”

They push themselves to their feet and rush out, chattering in their strange language and nearly stampeding you and Tavros. You’ve no idea how intelligent they are, have been meaning to investigate it for ages, but they definitely understand enough to follow given orders. You watch them rush out.

“Now what?” You turn to Tavros, and resist the urge to pull you hair in frustration, because it’s a fair question. It’s a fair question, just not one you really wanted raised.

“I suppose we can’t go to the scary stories until we’ve caught the druggie?” He grimaces and you sigh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. We should get back to the office and set up the radio interface, message the rest of the building.” All the urgency of the situation seems to have fled, and the two of you trail back the way you just came.

“So, uh, what happened there?”

“I don’t know.” You’d been reading him a report you’d written, having him critique it for you before you sent it off to the Prospit Academy of Science and Nature to be peer reviewed. You were rushing a bit, stumbling on your words because the two of you were already late for scary stories, and missing Eridan isn’t a problem but you really wanted to see Dave’s. One moment you were detailing the effects of spoor slime on humans as opposed to trolls, next moment an olive-grey blur had darted past your peripheral vision and out the door.

“But why didn’t you, well, use your space powers? You know, to stop them. Or speed yourself up. Or something.”

“You think that I didn’t think of that?” You look at your hands, flex your fingers, before turning to lamp and pointing at it. Nothing happens. “I tried. It just... didn’t work.”

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are venting. Not ranting- venting. Airing out the dirty laundry, to use a shitty human colloquialism, because the jade blood sat opposite you is a hundred times more competent and more present than your moirail. Also, she’s a bit of a pale/ashen slut, not that you’d ever dare to voice that thought out loud. You may be the leader, but no one will intercede on your behalf if she is the attacker. The very notion is so bulge-blisteringly absurd it almost makes you laugh.

“Did they describe the carapace?”

“Of course they fucking did. A lower carapace, really fucking low- probably the carapace equivalent to a rust blood, but the fucking heathens couldn’t tell me the order. Do we need to do some sort of cultural exchange, just to save us from being so incompetent we trip and choke on our own bulges?” Kanaya wrinkles her nose and chooses to ignore you, instead glancing down at her notes.

“How severe was the attack on him?”

“Severe? Fuck, Kanaya, they didn’t bother to tell me every individual move, not that I would have cared even if they tried. I know he got thrown through a table. Why does it matter?”

“I’ve been gripped by a notion- a ridiculous notion, but one that I can’t seem to dispel. I’m trying to gather information to disprove it to myself, as well as work out what is actually going on.” She’s frowning at her scribblings, and when you peer to see them she shields them from your view. “Like I said, ridiculous.”

“Surprise me. Any idea at the moment would be great. It’s not like we can do anything else until we can actually leave this building, or until Leijon desides to send us another desecrated corpse.” She flushes, two high points of jade on her cheeks, but you continue to stare and she eventually sighs in resignation.

“Very well, though I will not blame you for laughing. Perhaps I’ll be slightly annoyed, but actions will be justified on both ends... one thing that occurred to me, about this ring, is that is stops people from aging. Correct?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, I decided to do some research for myself, just on the internet, so I had some context behind the individual we were pursuing. Despite having stepped down as leader of the weapons group some fifty years ago due to extreme paranoia, he did not die until sixteen months ago, by the human calendar- about a sweep ago for us. His body was found in the town of Barren-on-Derse.” Yeah, you have no idea where she’s going with this.

“That’s... isn’t that where Serket and Megido go clubbing?” Clubbing in both senses. Sometimes they dance, other times they come back wielding weapons spattered with the blood of convicted criminals. Sometimes you question why Slick thought this was a good area to set up an illegal organisation...`

“Yes, it is very near to here,” Kanaya is saying, snapping your attention back to her. “Also, were you aware why there is such a stigma against mentally disabled carapaces?”

“Uh- no,” you reply, caught off guard by the non sequitur. It’s not like you spent much of your time thinking about disabled carapaces- regular carapaces were generally brain dead enough, and even thinking that makes you cringe from the vitriolic, ‘pleasant-toned’ shit storm Kankri would spew at you. “No, tell me.”

“Carapaces are never born mentally handicapped- this was another thing I researched, you see, being related to my absurd notion. They can only become brain damaged or the like through grievous physical injury, such as being attacked and beaten. Consequently, they face great oppression, because they are seen as weak and unable to defend themselves.”

“Kanaya, what are you even talking about?”

“You asked to hear my theory, so it’s only fair that you listen in full, so as to better understand why I am struggling to dispel it. Do you recall the break in that occurred about a sweep ago?”

“The one that led to anti-portal shields? Yeah, how could I fucking forget, it’s the reason we’ve been trapped in here for the past month. Just because Dave’s pet got scared and the thief stole some pumpkins, or disappeared some pumpkins, or I don’t even know what fucking happened to the pumpkins. Kanaya, I haven’t closed my eyes in at least eight days, I have a headache like a gremlin is beating out a jiving calypso tune on the steel drum that is my think pan, and if the next fucking sentence past your blood and paint smeared lips isn’t what your theory is, I may have to take up employment as a full time cadaver, dead through frustration and his own inability to cope.”

“I think the ring is with the mayor,” she says, and it feels like the world has stopped breathing.

It’s an absurd notion, and you should laugh at her for even having it. The mayor, a veteran of Chequered Square, which happened nearly four hundred years ago.

Possessing a ring that makes him immortal.

Beaten to the point of brain damage.

Possibly sold off, or found by slavers.

Rescued by Dave.

And, when the paranoid thief needs a place to hide it-

What better than the headquarters of one of Skaia’s most feared gangs, under the watchful eye of someone too damaged to understand what’s going on?

Because he wasn’t being paranoid. He was actually being pursued, and a few days later they catch up with him

And kill him.

Leaving the ring...

“Leaving the ring still with the mayor,” you breathe out.

“What’s that noise?” asks Kanaya, but you’re already halfway to the door.

“Probably Lalonde’s cat in the vents; who gives a shit? Come on, Kanaya, we have a ring to find.”

 

Your name is Aradia, and you moirail is a surprisingly fast piece of shit.

When you finally catch up to him he’s collapsed in a corridor with his head between his knees, skin flushed gold right to the horns. His breath is coming in short, heavy gasps, like someone has their hands around his neck and is choking him. You swat the air just in case, before crouching down.

“Sollux? Sollux, what’s wrong?” He shakes his head, clutching his knees so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Sollux, look at me? Is it the voices? Is it someone we know?” Finally the horns raise, followed by a face with one blue eye and one red staring into yours.

“There are voices,” he rasps, “but they’re... silent. They’re not saying anything. It’s like something, a group of somethings, are going to die, but they don’t have a voice to scream or... shout or anything like that.” He’s been better with the voices, the past few sweeps. Getting away from Alternia made the biggest difference,  but you and Feferi cast a spell on this building when you first came here, a way to quiet the deceased- or the imminently deceased. Normally when inside things are quiet for him; the occasional voice gets through, but it’s rare.

“Does it feel like anyone we know? Kurloz, maybe?”

“No,” he gasps out, “no.” You rack your brain, and come up with a worrying thought.

“Sollux?” You grab his face, forcing him to look at you. “Is it the matriorb?” For a moment, confusion dulls his gaze; then, panic.

“Fuck!” he yells, jumping to his feet and dragging you with him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m such an idiot, how did I not realise, god I’m a fucking retarded shit-head moron, why can’t I just-“ You take matters into your own hands, employing Forceful Papping- or, as Kankri would call it, Domestic Abuse- and slapping him around the face. Hard.

“Shit, Aradia,” he gasps, clutching his cheek. His psionics make the air around you crackle blue and red, but you fight them off with your own. “What was that for?”

“Mental self-flagellation later,” you tell him, “saving the matriorb now.”

“Yeah. Right.” You take his hand, and start running.

 

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you have the horrible feeling that something awful is going to happen; some calamitous event, looming just out of sight, a dark cloud smudging the very bottom of an otherwise clear horizon.

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you share that sentiment, just without the poetry.

 

“Use your chainsaw.”

“I really think we should speak with Dave first, seeing how-“

“God damnit, Kanaya, I do not give once ounce of bulge blister pus. Just open that fucking door.” She gives you a _look_ that would have anyone else trembling, but you’re... you’re angry, is what you are, angry and tired and miserable and elated, because you are _so close_ to actually making progress it almost hurts.

The chainsaw roars for a second, before the sound of metal on metal fills the air. She chops the security alarm in half too, just for good measure, because right now you’re not up for explaining to every FRAF member what you’re doing. The second door is unlocked, always has been, because the last thing anyone would expect is other FRAF members forcing their way in.

“Couldn’t you have used the override code?” Kanaya asks, stowing her weapon.

“I could have; but then, I would miss out on the warm glow having you complicit spreads through my shrivelled black bloodpusher.” Her eyes hood and she scowls, stalking ahead of you into the playroom, and you know you should probably stop pushing your luck but at this point you just don’t _care_.

“Mr Mayor?” she calls, and de-captchalogues a can of pickled human asparagus. You don’t know if she grabbed it on the way here, or if she just happened to have it on her in case this exact fucking occasion arose. “Mr Mayor, we need your help. The citizens of can town are in danger!”

From the beanbag pile a face appears; recognising you, he runs out, a smile crinkling his face, but hesitates when he sees that Dave isn’t with you.

“Mr Mayor, it’s to do with Dave- he’s been captured! By the pirates! Vriska told you about the pirates, didn’t she?” His eyes widen and he nods frantically, darting up to grab the can and cradle it to his chest. “The pirates have him, and they’re demanding a ransom to get him back. They say it’s here in Can Town- will you help us?” He nods again, hands shaking as he pockets the can and then grabs her arm, looking terrified. A spike of completely platonic pity pierces you, and you can understand why Dave has been so determined to look out for him. It’s the same helpless panic that Gamzee gets into when he wakes up and doesn’t know where he is, when he’s taken the wrong combination of drugs and the voices in his head are screaming at him...

“It’s solid gold, and it’s inset with four gems, making a square shape. Have you seen it?” Kanaya is saying. He hesitates, glancing between the two of you, before his eyes harden and he nods. _For Dave_ he seems to say. _I’ll show you for Dave._

You follow him, carefully picking your way through the narrow streets of Can Town, around the miniature cars and the toys that line them, stopping when you reach a building labelled ‘Bank.’ Kanaya wrote out all these labels; you remember her sitting in the office, griping because she had far more pressing work to be getting on with, but doing it anyway because the mayor and asked her to do it specifically. Now, the mayor gives the building a tremendous shove, sending dozens of cans toppling. He keeps pushing, forcing cans out of the way, until he reaches the bottom layer that forms the base. He counts along, four from the left and three cans in, and pulls it out. It slides out with a rattle, and it’s clearly been opened, and when he pulls the lid off the fucking fabled ring glints out at you.

“Thank you, Mr Mayor,” Kanaya says, taking it from you. “You’ve almost certainly saved Dave’s life.” The mayor beams, and now it’s your turn to tremble, because you finally have it, you finally have the fucking ring, fucking Parcel Mistress at your disposal- it’s everything you’ve been fretting about, but you’re finally making progress, and you want to punch the air in elation. Instead you leave, and when you reach the end of the corridor say

“That was cold,” to Kanaya as she tries to piece the door back together. She huffs and leaves the shards of metal in a precarious mound in the doorway.

“I’m sorry. I am so very sorry. I thought, since it was clearly act like the most selfish, callous, and unfeeling wiggler in the three realms day, I would not be exempt when it came to getting what we needed. What else could I have done- hold him at knife point and demand that he show it to us? Because do not think for one moment, Karkat, that I don’t realise that that was your only plan. Don’t you dare try to give yourself the moral high ground in this situation, because you and I have been forced together at the bottom of a ravine and there is going to be no way to explain this to the others!” She started glowing about halfway through the rant, and now she’s so bright you have to shield your eyes. “I would beg your forgiveness, but since it was my theory that led to the ring’s recovery in the first place, I don’t believe I will.” This said, she throws the ring into your hands and storms off.

You gape at her retreating figure, before turning away with a snarl. Fine; fucking fine. You don’t need her now, anyway- it only takes one person to make a call to Parcel Mistress.

 

 

Your name is Doc Scratch, and being an omniscient being, walls have never been much of a problem for you. You always know what’s on the other side, and you always know how to get through. Now, you shatter the easiest wall of all, and whisper to the readers

“Brace yourselves.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm ginger, I wouldn't be able to rap to save my life.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Surprise Attack Of A Nefarious By Sinister Assailants Against Whom They Have Spent Several Human Months Rallying Against; In Which Moirails Are Forgotten, Powers Are Rendered Useless, And Two Characters Are Knocked Unconscious By Falling Rubble.  
> aka the chapter in which shit hits the whirling device

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When reading other fics, I always wondered how frustrating pesterlogs could *actually be*  
> Very, is the answer.  
> Very.

** == > Jade: Oh Shit **

The druggie takes seven bullets before they eventually go down, most of them to the face. It’s late now, and you’re exhausted; what a way to spend Dersing. Everyone else is asleep, but you and Tavros need to work out what the repercussions of this are going to be on your trial.

“We could ask Aradia and Vriska to, maybe, get us another subject next time they go out.” Tavros has a pencil behind each horn and another in each hand, and he stares at them as he makes the suggestion, as though trying to remember which hand he writes with.

“And the angel blood? That was our only lot, and with no way of finding a supplier-“ the rest of your sentence is lost to a yawn, but he gets the idea if the way he groans and bangs his head on the table is anything to go by.

It’s a crippling loss, and you feel like you could cry from the frustration of it. The two have you have been planning this pretty much since angel blood first entered the scene, but had waited until the cold season to employ it simply because of how much time it took up. The subject needed vitals recorded every hour, doses administered every three hours, not to mention near constant monitoring as the effects began to take hold. The two of you have basically been living off catnaps for the past 22 days, and the experiment was due to end 57 hours from now! By your calculations, that was when the olive blood would have collapsed and died from overdose. Of course, you’ll never know now.

“What if we... if we... did something smart.” Several hours spent chasing the subject has not bolstered your energy levels.

“There’s enough data for us to make some extrapolations. Nothing definitive or... or... _aghhhhh,”_ your yawn feels wide enough to dislocate your jaw, “conclusive, but we were never going to get anything properly conclusive with just one subject for just one species.”

“I’m really more interested in, well, why your powers didn’t work? Is that, uh, a thing that... happens?”

“No,” you sigh, and again try to use them. Nothing. “It’s never happened before, at least. I suppose it could be due to exhaustion. I’ve never been this tired before either.” Tavros suddenly drops both pencils and pushes his chair back, shaking his head.

“This is, to be, uh, honest, this is ridiculous. We can’t, work like this. We should sleep, and then work on, all this, tomorrow. When we can actually, well, think.” You rub at your eyes and nod.

“You’re probably right. I’m just so tired, I don’t know if I can sleep. Have you ever had that?” He hesitates, and then pulls a vial off the shelf, holding it out to you. It takes a moment to realise what it is. “Tavros, no, I’m not going to take drugs to get to sleep! Do I look like Judy Garland to you?”

“I don’t know, who that is. But a pinch of fairy dust has been a cure for, insomnia and other, uh, ailments, for centuries. It’s not enough to get you, addicted or anything. Just to help you, well... to help you sleep.” There is a long pause.

“What the hell,” you say eventually, “It’s not like I was ever even at school, let alone got a ‘don’t do drugs’ talk.” Some people snort it like cocaine, but you still have your dignity, and if it can be taken orally then by gog you’ll take it orally. You grab a pinch, Tavros following suite, and let it sit on your tongue.

“Tastes a bit like... raspberries? Or maybe blackberries?”

“It tastes sweet,” he says, wrinkling his nose; he’s never been one for sugary junk food. “Which is what, it’s meant to taste like, but I still don’t like it.” A laugh escapes, and he pushes himself to his robotic feet, smiling at you. “Okay, Jade; time for bed.”

 _This was actually a good idea,_ you think as the two of you make for the door. _Not that drugs are ever a good idea, except in this case they were._ You can already feel the day’s tensions slipping away, all the stresses and panics and problems, and now you’re just ready for a warm bed and a good, long sleep.

This, of course, is when it all goes wrong.

A jarring collision rocks the building, nearly knocking you off your feet. A second follows, and then a third. There’s no time to recover before each strike hits, and both you and Tavros are stumbling disoriented, trying to remain upright. Sirens are blaring, mingling with the noise of the impacts, and the lights have changed from their normal electric yellow to the emergency red bulbs. On the wall nearest to you, as with walls throughout headquarters, a panel slides down. It reveals a map of the building, with flashing lights to show which area has been hit, along with a scrolling screen of instructions and information.

CG: EMERGENCY CODE 8

CG: I REPEAT, EMERGENCY CODE 8 

CG: FOR ANY BULGE MUNCHER WITH THEIR HEAD TOO FAR UP THEIR OWN ASSHOLE TO REALISE, THIS IS NOT A DRILL

TG: okay what the fuck why arent my time powers working

TG: why is this place not drowning in alternate dave ass right now

CG: ARE THEY FUCKING WITH THE TIME STREAM?

You brace yourself against another impact, and manage to type out a quick reply.

GG: no, my space powers are kaput as well :(

GC: VR1SK4 JUST GOT KNOCK3D OUT BY 4 P13C3 OF W4LL, SO 1T’S PROB4BLY S4F3 TO S4Y TH4T LUCK 1S 4LSO GON3

CG: FUCK 

CG: WHO’S POWERS STILL EDCGVHJNOMPGFD

You’re sent tumbling to the ground at the greatest impact so far, and behind you Tavros’ robot legs are whirring in pain trying to keep him upright.

CG: WHO’S POWERS STILL WORK?

TT: My wands appear to be perfectly functional

CA: and it wwill take more than a feww shitty intruders to hold back the might a ahabs crosshairs 

CG: IT’S NOT IDEAL, BUT IT WILL HAVE TO FUCKING DO

CG: AMPORA, LALONDE, I WANT YOU UP ON THE ROOF WITH ME

CG: PYROPE, GET SERKET TO SAFETY AND THEN YOU AND KANAYA ARE IN CHARGE OF GUARDING THE INFO ROOM

CG: CAPTOR, MEGIDO, IF YOU’RE READING THIS THEN I NEED YOU UP HERE WITH ME TOO

CG: IF ANYONE SEES THEM SEND THEM MY WAY, THEIR PSIONICS WOULD BE REALLY FUCKING USEFUL IF THEY’RE STILL WORKING

CG: HARLEY, YOU AND NITRAM NEED TO SECURE UP YOUR ZONE, AS WELL AS ALL AMPORA’S SHIT. I DON’T WANT ANY OF US TO DIE ENGULFED IN THE FIRE OF OUR OWN STUPIDITY.

CG: SPEAKING OF DYING, PEIXES, I WANT YOU PATROLLING. IF ANYONE NEEDS REVIVING, YOU FUCKING BETTER REVIVE THEM.

CC: s)( ore t )(ing Krabkat!

CG: ZAHNAK, YOU’VE INHERITED LEIJON’S JOB OF EVACUATING THE CONSORTS

CA: wwait wwhat

CA: they should fight

CG: GET YOUR TYRIAN SHADED ASS UP ON THE ROOF AND LAY YOUR PRINCELY GANDERBULBS ON WHY THEY SURE AS FUCK SHOULDN’T

CG: JOHN IF YOUR POWERS WORK I WANT YOU UP ON THE ROOF WITH ME

CG: IF NOT, YOU’RE WITH DAVE. I’M PUTTING YOU TWO IN CHARGE OF DEFENDING AGAINST BREACHES, BECAUSE YOU’RE STILL ARMED AND I FIGURE THE PAIR OF YOU AMOUNT TO AT LEAST ONE WHOLE WIT.

TG: hilarious dude

TG: you should bottle that joke and sell it as a weapon, that is a razor sharp quip right there

TG: john meet me outside the computer room

It’s a testimony to the severity of the situation that the conversation doesn’t get derailed further, and you quickly explain your job to Tavros. Your zone, aka the drug zone, is important to lock and seal up, not only to make sure no dangerous chemicals get into the air vents to pollute the rest of the building (particularly now you’ve got angel blood) but also to make sure none of the fairies escape.

You think of children’s story books about sweet, innocent, non-carnivorous fairies and want to laugh.

Eridan’s zone needs to be sealed up because he’s in charge of weapons, and any sparks or fire that get in there would be disastrous. It’s got barrels of gunpowder lining the walls, boxes of ammunition for every weapon from pistols to rocket launchers, not to mention all the doomsday devices Karkat told him he’s not allowed to develop.

It’s difficult work, thinking past your tiredness and the fairy dust, and from the look of strained concentration on Tavros’ face as you bolt doors and pull down metallic shutters, he feels the same way. You can only hope that the employees you have under you are doing the same in the more generally available locations of the building, but there’s no way to make sure of it.

“But what’s,” Tavros pauses, grunting as he tugs at a jammed hinge, “what’s attacking us? Is it another gang, or...?”

“It could be the government,” you grab a table for support as the floor shakes beneath you. “It might be a Derse government raid. Or- worst case scenario- her Imperious Condescension might have found Skaia.”

“And immediately targeted us, one of the only portal free zones in the realm?” he repeats disbelievingly.

“Okay, more likely government. They could have found a way to jam people’s powers.”In the distance, there is what sounds like an explosion. Out of the corner of your eye you see a movement at the same time as hearing Tavros’ cry of

“Look out!” Before you can react, there is a pain in the side of your head, and the world goes black.

 

** == > Rose: Oh shit **

You push your way through the corridors, past the streaming consorts evacuating the area and to the stair railings that lead to the roof of the FRAF area, improbably managing to remain upright through the shudders. The door requires a key pass, but of course the input pad is broken from the cold, so instead of wasting time you blast the door away in a jet of white light. Stepping through the smoking frame, you allow the full scene to assault your eyes.

Angels.

Of course, you’re no fool. You, and most likely every other FRAF member, not to mention anyone within the organisation with even the remotest idea of what has been going on, have wrestled with the real possibility of going up against angels. You have wondered what you will do, how you will handle the confrontation, what it is like killing them the first time and what it is like killing them the second.

But the fight was not meant to occur here, and definitely not so soon. The gang isn’t ready for this- with still only one juju and barely any information on the organisation you’re against, saying unequal footing would be like stating that there are disparities between the Himalayas and the Mariana Trench.

One angel turns to look at your way and you flinch back, fingers scrabbling at the door frame as though to pull yourself to shelter behind it. Its mouth hangs as though it has no jawbone to keep it rigid, a gaping mockery of a scream, full of needle teeth pointed outwards like an angler fish. Its eyes are sunken, with no pupils or irises; the sockets jut out and cast long shadows down its face. Everything about it seems too long, distorted, a creature that has spent a thousand lifetimes being stretched on the rack.

To say you are unprepared for this fight would win understatement of the year, should such a ridiculous competition actually exist.

And then it swings itself towards you, teeth reaching forward- holy shit, are they actually moving?- and instinct kicks in. You youth roll across the roof, raise one thorn and sear a hole through its back like you are bestowing divine retribution. It screams, and goes limp.

“What is the fucking point of having two psionics, one of whom is the descendant of the most powerful fucking telepath in all of recorded history, if they’re too busy polishing their bone bulges to come up and actually lend a hand in dealing with clusterfucks when they get hot? Oh, that’s right! There is no point! Tell Kanaya not to bother attempting to sew the dress, because this needle sure as fuck isn’t the sharpest crayon in the box!” You follow the stream of swearing and hysterical mixed metaphors to where Karkat and Eridan are crouched on the other side of a randomly protruding gable. The architecture of the building is no less absurd from the roof than from the ground, but at least it provides good cover.

“Kar,” says Eridan, taking aim through the sight of Ahab’s Crosshairs. “No disrespect to you or your leaderly position. But shut the fuck up.” Karkat’s mouth snaps shut, and without another word Eridan takes the shot. There’s a scream, and one of the angels tumbles to the lawn below. Eridan smirks to himself and turns, catching sight of you as you approach. “Thank fuck, the cavalry is here.”

“About fucking time,” Karkat gripes, then seems to remember he’s supposed to be shutting up and instead settles for a scowl. Eridan ignores him, focussing on you.

“The good news is that they’ve already died once, so all it take is one good shot and poof-“ he illustrates with a little hand gesture “no more angels. The bad news is that they’ve already died once, so they’re pissed off like you wouldn’t believe and wreckin’ this place like they want something from it.”

“They do want something from it,” you reply, mustering up your magic and raising one of the thorns of Olgogath. “They want us dead.” The shriek is loud and shrill enough to make your ears hurt, and the angel lands just metres from their turned backs. They twist around and gape, and then Karkat starts up cussing again while Eridan readjusts Ahab’s Crosshairs and focuses back on the angels.

It is wearying in a way you weren’t expecting, both physically and emotionally. The cold is savage, tearing through the meagre layers you’d thrown on before coming up and sucking the heat out of your very core. On the ground below, looking like ants from your lofty vantage points, the consorts and those members finished carrying out the emergency protocol are attempting to flee. You do your best to protect them, but you don’t catch every angel before it dives and even from here you can see the sprawled bodies.

Eridan is more focussed on protecting the building, but Ahab’s Crosshairs takes time to recharge, so he’s only managing two or three shots every minute. You can do more for short bursts, but then you have to stop and breathe, stomach roiling from the force of the magic powering through you. In the middle, Karkat has pulled out a tablet that seems to be hooked to the building’s mainframe and is busy with messaging everyone, getting updates and giving directions. Across the miniaturised map, more and more sections are lighting up as breached.

“Eridan,” you grit through clenched teeth, unsure if the shaking of your vision is in your head or the building trembling under another attack. “I understand your great love of historical sites, but it would be appreciated if you could assist me in-“ another shot blasts from the Thorns, and you hadn’t even realised you were gearing up. The world seems blurred, colours melting into each other, but you just focus on lining up your next target “- saving some of these civilians.”

“Stoppin’ them gettin’ into the buildin’ takes priority. If they get hold of information, or fuck, just decide to commit arson or general vandalism or some shit, then we got a problem. Fef can revive anyone they get out here, quit worryin’ and perhaps give _me_ some a that assistance!” Then Karkat’s cursing redoubles, and when you glance down at the screen it feels like the bottom has dropped out of your stomach.

GT: they’re leaving holes and stuff but none of them are actually coming in so we don’t know what to do :B 

GT: do we patch the holes? do we leave them and keep patrolling?

CG: TEMPORARY PATCHWORK IS A THING THAT EXISTS AND IS ONE OF THE MAIN REASONS PSIONICS ALSO EXIST

CG: NOT THAT THEY ACTUALLY SEEM TO EXIST, GIVEN HOW THERE’S NO FUCKING SIGN OF THEM

CG: USE YOUR FUCKING THINKPANS, IF HUMAN JEGUS ACTUALLY DEIGNED TO BLESS YOU WITH ANY. IS IT LARGE OR EXPOSED? THEN PATCH. IF NOT, FUCKING DON’T!

CC: Karkrab!!!

CC: I’m ---EELY SORRY!!!

CG: OH GOD DON’T TELL ME

CC: My powers aren’t working! 38O W)(at s)(ould I do?

“Get her out of there, Kar,” says Eridan, wincing at the backlash of the gun as it recoils against his shoulder. He’s a tyrian blooded troll, but even he is starting to feel the damage. “And no, this isn’t cause a any feelin’s, red or otherwise! She’s too valuable an asset to lose and you know that, so get her out of here!” Karkat blinks, shoots him a suspicious half squint, then turns back to the screen.

CG: GRAB YOU TRIDENENT OR WHATEVER THE FUCK IT’S CALLED AND GET TO THE INFO ROOM

CG: THIS FIGHT IS HEADING SOUTH AND I NEED ALL HANDS ON DECK DOWN THERE

CG: NOW WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY PSIONICS?!

 

** == > Aradia: Oh shit **

“What do you think is going on up there?” asks Sollux as another crash rumbles through the cavern. You keep your gaze skywards, frowning at the web of cracks slowly but surely spreading through the stone ceiling.

“Nothing good.” As you say it, another bit of stalactite breaks away, hurtling towards the spiked object far below. You easily deflect it with you psionics, before risking a glance at your palemate. “Still no luck?”

“This. Fucking. Thing. It doesn’t. Want. To be protected.” Wow, grit teeth certainly don’t help his lisp at all, but you’ve known him long enough to get what he’s saying. Above the matriorb, a blue and red shield flickers into existence briefly, before vanishing again.

“And the voices?” He gives a grunt of frustration before drooping in defeat; then he rolls his shoulders and prepares for another attempt.

 “The first voice just died. The others are getting louder- including the matriorb one.” His tone is flat, but you know how much it hurts him. Another stalactite and two bits of rubble drop down.

“Sollux, this cavern doesn’t have long. We either need to get this shield up and working or grab the matriorb and run.” As you say it, a block of stone the size of your quarters tumbles straight toward it and you just manage to deflect it in time, sending it ricocheting into the wall and causing more cracks to spread. Fuck. “Sollux!”

“You grab the matriorb!” He yells, wrenching his gaze upwards. A blue and red blanket spreads over the roof. “I’ll cover you.” There’s a moment’s hesitation, then you nod. Dashing forward, you reach out to grab one of the spikes- and bounce back as your body ricochets off something very solid. “AA? What happened, are you okay?” A piece of rubble hurtles towards your head, and you barely manage to duck before it crashes into the ground and shatters.

“Focus on the roof! There’s some kind of... of force field around it, I can’t get through!” Punching and hitting serves no purpose other than to hurt your hands, and when you try to shoot psionics at it the recoil feels like it just mince-meated half your brain. In your peripheral vision, you see Sollux suddenly tense, gazeless eyes scrunching up with effort, and you know that in the domed ceiling high above, something has given.

It is one of those moments where you realise you are going to have to make a call- keep trying, and risk not only yourself but also your moirail, or get out and leave the matriorb to be crushed. A groan from behind you decides it.

“Fuck it!”

“AA, what-?” he asks, but you grab his hand and run back into the maze of tunnels that leads down. From the cavern comes the rumbling crash of something important collapsing and the two of you are left coughing from the dust that fills the air. “Shit, shit, it’s dead, AA it’s dead, Kanaya is going to kill us-“

“Only metaphorically,” you chirp, hoping you sound positive and not panicked, “which is better than literally being killed by a cave-in.” The look he give you makes it clear that he isn’t buying it for a second.

“AA, it’s dead; Kanaya has been guarding that thing since she was like, four sweeps old- have you seen her chainsaw?! God, and I never even got the chance to change the keyboard directions on Roxy’s laptop to-“ He freezes when you pap him, gently this time.

“Shoosh, Sollux. We did our best- Kanaya will understand. Perhaps it isn’t even fully destroyed- I certainly can’t hear any voiceless ghosts.” At this, he relaxes a little.

“Really?”

“Absolutely none.”

“Heh. Okay. Okay, yeah- maybe we managed to change things enough so that it didn’t die. And that’s why I can’t still hear it’s voice.” He gives you a watery, hopeful smile and you pull him in for a hug. He’s been so fragile these past few weeks, so affected by something he can’t articulate, and even if the organisation is being attacked, you’re glad for this moment with him. Too soon, though, he breaks away. “We should go help the others; where’s the map?”

“I gave it to you, didn’t I?” Your gazes meet for a long moment, before you both turn to look back at the caved-in cavern. “Don’t tell me...”

“Yup.”

“Where you were standing?”

“Yup.” Fantastic. You sigh and roll your shoulders.

“Well; I guess we’d better start walking.”

 

** == > Terezi: Oh shit **

“And I just have the most horrible feeling that something is going to go wrong, terribly wrong, or perhaps several somethings, and I know that I am no prophet, I understand that you’re the seer of the room, but I feel as though perhaps my rainbow drinker powers have gifted me with some form of premonition which may not have manifested itself until this very moment, which I understand sounds absurd but-“

Kanaya is pacing. Kanaya is rambling. Kanaya is panicking.

You don’t like it.

The info room, or ‘Overly Secured Information Strongbox’ as it is officially called, isn’t particularly big. It contains numerous filing cabinets, what smells like some very valuable solid gold artefacts, and three boxes of external hard-drives, because even Mituna and Roxy can’t hack something offline and not plugged into anything (yet).

“There is just the inescapable, niggling feeling at the back of my think pan that I have forgotten something important, and I understand that it could be the adrenaline speaking, but I don’t believe that it is-“

She’s interrupted by a knock at the door, and both of you draw weapons before you cautiously pull it open. From the other side, Feferi gives you a sheepish smile.

“I’ve been sent to help guard.”

“Yes, we saw,” says Kanaya, at the same time as you snap

“Well thank fuck. Here I was worried we would be overwhelmed by all these combatants that are trying to siege the strongbox. It’s a good thing you’re here to help, Miss Iced Grapefruit, I just don’t know what we would do otherwise.”

“Terezi, I’m shore that Karkrab sent me here for a reason!”

“Yeah! This is where the damsels in distress get delivered, courtesy of Mr Pompous Scarlet. It’s filled with people that he thinks can’t look after themselves.”

“It’s filled with people that he doesn’t want hurt,” Feferi corrects gently, shutting the door behind her and pushing you into a seat.

“Same difference! There’s nothing out there that could keep a legislacerator down!”

“Angels, Terezi. There’s angels out there,” and at that you droop. The prickle of resentment doesn’t leave you though.

“Well then why doesn’t he have the whole of FRAF in here, huh? Since everyone’s powerless, why don’t we have a Fruity Rumpus Asshole Factory party in here?! We can steal some of Miss Cornflower’s cupcakes, and hey, Mr Sour Grape can provide the Faygo.” Kanaya gives a start, before leaping up and dashing to the wall screen. “What’s got your fangs in a tangle?” She doesn’t reply, so you strut past her and lick a long stripe down the screen.

GA: Karkat Would It Be Possible For Me To Ask You A Question Or Would That Be Too Time Consuming For Your Current Situation?

CC: ASK THE FUCK AWAY

GA: Where Is Your Moirail? 

CC: ...

CC: FUCK

“Oh no!” gasp Feferi, who was peering over Kanaya’s shoulder. “Poor Gam-sea! He’s probably so conch-fused!” You and Kanaya must have given her the same look, because she grins. “Sorry, that one was a bit of a stretch.” There is a long pause, before Kanaya resumes pacing.

“No, I don’t believe that was it, but I cannot imagine what else I might have forgotten-“

Feferi watches her for a few minutes, before returning her attention to you.

“Well, he can’t reel-y send everyone in here, otherwise I think he would! Some of the others still have powers and can defend themselves, some have emergen-sea protocols that need to be carried out, and some he just needs for general jobs. You and Kanaya would fall into that category, but he doesn’t want to risk losing you.”

“And you? I didn’t happen to smell anything particularly chummy between the two of you.” You don’t mean it offensively, and thankfully she doesn’t take it as such, instead letting out a cheerful ‘glub!’

“If my ex-moray-eel doesn’t have something to do with it, I’ll eat my trident!”

 

** == > Karkat: Oh shit **

Your brain is officially going into panic mode.

“Fuck, fuck, I am the worst moirail, it is me, how could I have forgotten about Gamzee? Fuck, how could I have forgotten my own fucking moriail, oh wait, that’s right, because I’m the puddle of diarrhoea shat out by a diseased nook worm as it prepares to die, I can’t believe I forgot about my moirail, how-“ Your jaw slams shut as the new message appears on the screen.

TC: honk

TC: HONK

Fuck. This is exactly what you don’t need right now.

CG: HARLEY ARE YOU THERE?

AT: jADE IS KIND OF,, wELL,, iNCAPACITATED

AT: wHAT DID YOU,, UH,, NEED HER FOR,, EXACTLY?

CG: YOU’LL DO

CG: I NEED YOU TO FIND GAMZEE AND I NEED YOU TO GIVE HIM SOME FAIRY DUST

CG: THEN GET HIS IDIOTIC ASS DOWN TO THE INFO ROOM AND LEAVE KANAYA SOME MORE FAIRY DUST TO BE GIVEN AS NEEDED

CG: KANAYA YOU’D BETTER BE READING THIS

AT: aRE YOU SURE THAT IT’S,, uH,, wELL,, a GOOD IDEA?

AT: tO BE GIVING HIM DRUGS,, i MEAN

AT: sINCE WE ARE, uH,,,,,,,,, uNDER ATTACK

CG: DID I FUCKING STUTTER?

AT: nO,,,,,

CG: THEN FUCKING HOP TO IT, ASSHOLE

You are prevented from insulting him further by Lalonde dropping like a stone at your feet.

“Shit, shit, did one of them get you?” You crouch over her, hands hovering, unsure how to deal with this situation: both in terms of appropriateness- because humans seem to be all kinds of pale skanks, but you have got a moirail who you have already been shitty to- and also in terms of how to literally deal with this situation. Thankfully, she’s still conscious.

“Nothing to worry about; just over-exerted myself. I’m fine, honestly.” She doesn’t move to get up, and as Ahab’s Crosshairs recharge Eridan shoots her a disbelieving look.

“Yeah, no, I don’t fuckin’ think so. You’re not allowed up until you can speak without slurring.” Her face drops into a scowl.

“Fuck you. I am not my mother, nor am I my sister. I do not slur my words.” She pauses, then sighs. “I’m slurring them right now, aren’t I?”

“Like a lightweight after just one bottle.” Her scowl deepens, but she doesn’t move to get up, and you glance suspiciously between them. You don’t want any pale-fuckery while your headquarters are under siege, and you glare extra hard to convey this. Somehow, it feels wasted.

“I just don’t understand why they’re attacking,” she says, watching the sky. “We can’t be the only group that has been searching for information on them.”

“Maybe they’re lookin’ for something. Fuck, it could be Ahab’s Crosshairs- there can’t be that many things out there that can kill them like this can, and no one’s heard a your fake wand things.”

“I feel I have sufficiently demonstrated the non-fakeness of my wands, thank you very much Mr Ampora, though if you continue to disbelieve I suppose I can prove it on you. However, I believe you’re right: they wouldn’t come after something unless they knew for sure what it was and that we have it- not with an attack like this. Unless, of course, this is just a small glimpse into the full scale of the army.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” he warns, “and touch wood they don’t realise that what they’re lookin’ for is sat right here shooting at ‘em.” Lalonde finally props herself up on her elbows, and frowns at what she sees.

“Karkat? What area of the building is that?”

Your repugnant mutant blood turns to ice.

**  
**

** == > Dave: Oh shit **

“I don’t think this is what the warhammer of Zillyhoo was made for, Dave!” yells John as he drives another nail home. He’s yelling because between the screams of the consorts and other lower ranking members, who have given up trying to evacuate and are now just running around panicking, the rumble of things breaking elsewhere in the building and the ungodly noises being emitted by your attackers, you can barely hear yourself think let alone hear John.

“A hammer is a hammer, isn’t it? I can’t exactly try and use my katana on it, I’d slice that bitch in half like it got on Kanaya’s bad side.” The two of you move to the other side of the tarp, you holding it in place while he hammers. You’d forgotten how difficult it is to do things without your powers; how the fuck are two guys meant to be patching holes in walls with just their bare hands?

Thankfully your swag ain’t a power, it just comes natural, and you were the one who suggested hunting out the tarps and nails to at least make a bit of progress in what is otherwise a futile job. This hole now firmly secured, you move on. From somewhere down the corridor, Equius’ booming voice shouts

“I command all of you to cease this inanity at once and to continue with the evacuation protocol! This behaviour does not behoov members of such a prestigious organisation! Do you not hear me? Desist and leave!”

The going is slow, even if you are trying to hurry. Rubble and debris line the floor, and John- unused to not having his windy powers to keep him upright- nearly falls over twice before actually hitting the ground when he slides on a slick of consort blood.

“Ew,” he mutters, face scrunched up. “This is so gross. Dave, help me up.”

“No can do, man.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot- you’re squeamish.”

“Just because I refuse to let anyone else’s body fluids taint the perfection that is Dave Strider’s exterior, does not mean I am squeamish.”

“Pfft, sure... squeamish.” He clambers to his feet and comes steps towards you, and god you know what he’s going to do before he even spreads his arms.

“John, don’t you dare-“

“Dave, don’t you want to make me better? Falling over hurts!”

“I swear to god, John, if you- John, John no-“ Thankfully, he is distracted at the last moment, veering away. You sag in relief before following, scanning the lines of update on the screen. He’s scrolled up to where you last left off, but not much seems to have happened since then. Tavros found Gamzee... Sollux and Aradia are still AWOL... Vriska has woken up... You finally reach the bottom line

 

CG: SOMEONE GET TO THE FUCKING MAYOR RIGHT NOW

 

“Dave!” John yells after you, but you’ve already taken off sprinting. “Dave, wait, I can come with you-“ followed by the sound of him tripping up again. He’d just slow you down, and you can’t afford to be slowed down, can’t afford to wait. The noise around you blurs out, as though it’s echoing down a distant tunnel, drowned out by the roar of blood in your ears.

You are the biggest failure. It is you.

Rounding a corner, you get a glimpse of Equius’ surprised face before an angel smashes through the wall. You don’t even pause, vaulting that thing like a fucking Olympic athlete, no stopping to see if Equius uses his STRENGTH to punch it away because you hit the ground running and are already gone.

A protruding wire catches your trainer and sends you sprawling, but only for a second because the mayor needs you, he must be so scared-

the mayor needs you and you have to get to him, have to help him-

You’re flash-stepping faster than you ever have before, world around you a blur, and you can’t quite dodge things in time as they appear, can’t avoid everything. There’s a warm dripping past your fingers, leaving your grip on your katana slick and wet, and it takes you a moment to realise your hands are cut and bleeding. When did that happen? When you fell?

The outer corridors are trashed, but further in it almost seems as though there isn’t a siege happening. The noise of the attacks are muffled and there’s no debris save for the occasional bit of upturned furniture that fell during the shaking. Consorts mill, terrified and unsure what to do next, and giving up on pushing your way through them you instead flash-step from head to head.

God, he’s on the other fucking side of the building to where you and John were, how could you have forgotten about him?

Then you break down a door because none of the key pads are working anyway and re-enter the war zone. Whole stretches of wall have been smashed away, leaving the corridor exposed to the bitter bite of night in the cold season. Consort bodies litter the ground, partially frosted over and almost all of them mutilated. Angels swoop past, dealing blow after blow, but you pay them no heed as you move.

Almost there

Almost there

Everything will be fine because you’re almost there

You spot the doorway, don’t realise at first amid the general destruction that there’s something wrong with the door. Trip. Almost get impaled. Try to stand again, slip, and you can feel jagged edges slicing into your hands, you arms, your legs, guess who doesn’t have time to be squeamish now, John?

You crash through the second door without even bothering to open it, sending splinters flying, and skid to a stop. You’re wheezing, your lungs are being cauterised by every breath, your heart is racing and your blood feels caustic.

“May- Mayor?” you try to shout, but it comes as a cough. “WV?” There’s a gaping hole ripped in the side of the playroom, fuck it, there isn’t even a wall there anymore, and as you come to your senses you realise there are at least three angels in the immediate vicinity. “Fuck,” you breathe, and then one swoops- lunges right into a pile of bean bags- drags out a body- and digs its talons in.

Your world implodes.

 

**END OF PART 2**


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everyone find a pile with your moirail," you finally croak out. "If you don't have one, pair up with someone else who doesn't have one either. Get your fucking emotions out now so we can deal with this shit later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be twice as long, but I've been run ragged the past few weeks, and so have split it into two.

** == >Karkat: face the aftermath **

You can't meet their eyes.

The Mayor’s body lays on the ground between those of you present, like an ancient king laid out for worship before finally being put to rest. Dave kneels beside it, hunched forward, sunglasses lost somewhere back in the debris. No one dares to approach. From the cracked window an icy wind whistles in, and Tavros shivers and pulls his coat tighter around himself. The door swings open, and in stumble Sollux and Aradia. He opens his mouth to say something, stops when he sees the tableau, grabs Aradia’s arm and pulls her back. From your right there is a soft pop. 

"Powers are back," Jade murmurs, and Dave whips around; the crimson of his irises is dulled against the rust red of his bloodshot eyes. Low blood eyes, but Feferi shrinks back when they focus on her. 

"Heal him." She nods, steps forward and places her hands on the mayors thorax, where the ribs would be in a human or a troll. They glow purple, and then fade, glow purple, and then fade again. There is a long pause. 

"Dave-"

"Fucking try harder!" She tries a third time, but still nothing happens. “No...” Feferi just shakes her head and climbs back to her feet. Dave lets out an inarticulate shout and disappears.

"He's in the time stream," says Aradia; no one replies.

"Everyone find a pile with your moirail," you finally croak out. "If you don't have one, pair up with someone else who doesn't have one either. Get your fucking emotions out now so we can deal with this shit later." They nod and one by one begin to trail out. You swallow down the bile churning in your gut and go to get your pale mate. 

 

** == >Rose: comfort flush crush **

Before you can make your way towards Kanaya, who stands distraught and unmoving at the Mayor’s head, someone grabs your arm and pulls you to one side. It's Eridan. 

"Trust me when I say you don't wanna do that," he tells you, sea dweller accent twisting the W's. "I know being human and all you just wanna comfort her, but at best you're goin to creep her out and at worst you're goin to confuse her emotionally. Seriously, let Terezi or someone talk to her." You pause, considering the value of his words, before nodding and following him out of the room. He seems relieved, but any positive feelings drain from his face when you reach one of the side sitting rooms and collapse onto the couch. There is a grim set to his mouth, and he looks exhausted. God knows you certainly feel it. 

"Is this sofa really suitable for a feelings jam?" You ask, and he blinks, confused. "I'd have thought we would need markedly more pillows for such an event." 

"Do you want one?" He asks, and there's a waver to his voice that you can't quite attribute to his accent. "Because we don't have to do one unless you think you'd like to."

"Mr Ampora, I strongly believe that therapy is one of the greatest helps for trauma. I should hope it can help us pre-emptively avoid it." He blinks again. 

"So is that a yes or-"

"It's a yes, Eridan. Now how does one go about initiating it?" His concern is touching; it's certainly a far cry from the tales you've heard from the others. Things like saying that the pale quadrant is the worst quadrant, the loser quadrant, how he'd been 'moirail-zoned' by Feferi, and how after they broke up he grew increasingly desperate for someone, anyone to take him, regardless of their feelings. Now he insists you stay seated as he gathers up cushions and small, decorative knick knacks from around the room to make a pile with. 

"Generally, the person listening will do something like stroke their palemate’s cheek or scratchy their head or something as they talk." His cheeks flush purple. "Obviously we’ll only do it if you're okay with that, but-" he cuts off with a glub as you pap his face. 

"Okay." His voice has risen by about an octave. "Okay, I guess I'm goin first."

And so he curls into you, and in a torrent of words more violent than the most disastrous of tsunamis he tells you everything. Wishing he could have done more, sure, and wishing he had handled things differently. But there are other things, too: guilt that he hadn't known to warn people about the Angels power blocking abilities, since he doesn't have any powers of his own. The self-doubt, because what if Ahab’s Crosshairs was the wrong choice and a different juju could have helped better? How stupid he feels that he didn't predict the ambush and get Equius to take the appropriate security measures. 

"I'm supposed to be this great tactician," he shudders out, and you never knew trolls cried tears the same colour as their blood. "I'm supposed to be good at this sorta thing, I'm... I'm fuckin Dualscar’s heir, I shoulda seen this coming." You do your best, shooshing in and stroking his hair and papping him in the cheek if it seems like he's getting too hysterical. Rubbing his horns seems to help, but when your fingers brush his fins he flinched back like he's been shocked. You do your best to avoid them after that. 

Finally, he seems to run out of words, and wriggling upright gives your hair an experimental stroke. It appears to be your turn. Relaxing down into the cushions, you set about trying to articulate how you're feeling. It's strange, being on the other side of the metaphorical psychologist's desk, but you of all people know the value of therapy, and you're nothing if not determined to give it a try. 

"I felt weak." The sentence is a surprise, but as soon as you say it you know that it’s true. "I wanted to help... I needed to help, but I couldn't." Once the words start, you can't seem to stop them. "I was so scared. They were so overwhelming- they were so large, and they- I just-" your voice cracks, and you bury your face into his shoulder, letting his long fingers rub soothing circles into the small of your back. 

"Let it out," he hums, voice rumbling through his chest cavity. "You're okay now. You're okay."

"I feel like if I'd been smarter I could have done more," you tell him once you've composed yourself. "If I'd thought to consult my crystals, or perhaps used another spell rather than blindly smashing my way through everything, things would have turned out better."

"I should have remembered the mayor." He makes a noise of protest, but you shake your head, tears once again clouding your vision. "He was totally dependent on us, and we forgot him, we fucking forgot him and now he's dead and if I'd only thought, why didn't I think?!" Eridan's arms wrap around you as your throat closes up.

"Rose, Rose; shoosh, Rose, shoosh." His fingers card through your hair, and bit by bit you begin to relax again. He gives you a wan smile, which you weakly return, and you see now why trolls are so hung up on moirallegiance and finding the perfect palemate. It's cathartic in a way you didn't expect, laying yourself bare and letting someone else, for once someone else, stitch the pieces back together. 

"How long does Karkat want us away for?" you finally ask, feeling worn through but calm. 

"As long as we need, I suppose. Should we go find them?"

"Honestly, I just need to sleep." He shoots you a ghost of a smile, bags under his eyes dark enough to be bruises.

"Whatever you want, Rose. Anything you want."

 

** == >Jade: pile with Feferi **

You're not going to go quite that far, but the two of you raid Vriska’s alcohol supply and then sit on the floor of her rooms, faces bathed in the soft glow of the fish tanks.

"I don't know about you, but I felt pretty fucking useless." She nods with a mournful glub, and you both take a swig. You don't feel bad about pilfering Vriska’s alcohol- you wouldn't have anyway, but this is honey wine, and you know that she nicked that from Sollux. Feferi, however, pauses, and shoots you a concerned glance.

"I don’t min-know if you should have that. Maybe humans are different, but with trolls the medicullers generally recommend not drinking or taking drugs or anything for at least three days after a head injury." Fuck. Damnit, she's right. With a sigh, you hand her the bottle. Also, you don't know how the fairy dust you took earlier will react with the alcohol- and with the head wound. 

"The problem with being the only qualified doctor around here," you tell her, leaning back against the bottom of the sofa, "is that when you're ill, there's no one to look after you." She pouts.

"Do I not count as a doctor?"

"You're nothing more than a glorified mortician." You don't quite manage to duck the pillow that comes your way, and it glanced off your head with high blood strength. "Ouch! Injured, remember?" She grimaces, and settled down beside you.

"Glorified mortician indeed! I couldn't even kelp the mayor."

"I told you, it's not your fault. If the Angels block powers, it only makes sense that someone killed by one can't be revived. It's not your fault any more than it is Dave’s for not being able to time zap to him, or John for not doing his windy thing, or mine for getting knocked out.”

“Whale, getting knocked out was a reely dumb thing to do!” You swat her arm, earning yourself nothing but stinging fingers and a wry smirk from her. Stupid highbloods and their adamantium skeletons... “I suppose there was no way to avoid it.”

“None that I can see,” you reply, and the both of you settle back to watch the fish swim.

 

** Terezi: commence pity party with Kanaya **

And it’s not even going to be the _fun_ sort of pity party.

“There were so many ways we could have avoided it,” you mutter scrubbing at your face. You’re sat on the back of the sofa in the den where just hours ago Scary Stories was happening. At any other time Kanaya would be reprimanding you for getting filthy feet on the cushions, but she’s too busy wringing her hands from her perch on the back table. Besides, in the wake of the general destruction you can’t imagine anything more trivial.

“I can’t believe this has happened.”

“It shouldn’t have happened, it _wouldn’t_ have happened if I’d only had my powers-“

“Why did I ever tell him my theory, why did I ever go along with him-“

“I thought, months ago, that we should have tried to find more information on angles than just what Eridan gave us, but I never followed through-“

“If I had left the alarm we would have known of the attack as soon as it occurred in the area, Dave wouldn’t have been too late-“

“Scratch told me once that my greatest downfall would be a lack of self confidence, it looks- wait, what did you say?” She looks at you, and you can smell the dilute jade tears from across the room. There is a pause, then she buries her face into her hands. Bit by hiccupped bit, the story comes out- how they hadn’t told Dave, and had sliced the alarm in half to prevent it going off at their infiltration. How they’d lied to the mayor, told him the situation was dependent on him. How they’d left the door in a pile of shards in the frame.

You’d smelt the bloody lacerations sliced into Dave’s skin. He’d told you how he’d arrived _just_ too late. If it wasn’t for that obstacle, he might have... might have...

“This is all your fault,” you realise, and she sobs harder. “You and Karkat; it... it’s your fault he’s dead.” You’re on your feet now, shouting, unable to get the feel of the mayor’s cold wrists as you helped to carry the body out of your mind. “You _killed_ him!”

“Do you think I don’t know?” she shouts back. “Do you think I don’t understand that with every fibre of my being? There hasn’t been a hate, neither pitch nor platonic, comparable to that which I feel towards myself right now! Do you think-“ her voice chokes off, and there is the _scrape-thump_ of her dropping from the table to the floor, “that he wasn’t my friend too?” For a moment you stare at her with sightless eyes, just trying to process what’s going on. Then the full impact of the situation hits you, like a scandalous bucket of ice water.

“No; he wasn’t. Not in the way he was to Dave, not in the way he was to me.” Your lips are trembling, and it’s hard to force the words past the lump in your throat. “A friend wouldn’t have lied to him, wouldn’t have taken advantage of his naivety. He was my friend, and you murdered him.” You force yourself to maintain composed, force the tears back down. “And I’m going to see that justice is served.”

With this, you sweep out the room, leaving Kanaya’s broken sobs behind.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have never claimed to well accustomed in troll practices.” The voice slices through the air like a machete through tendons, slick and well-practiced. “But I would have thought that keeping a pale mate as a pet would be considered decidedly... out there, for such a reputable straight shooter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thar be dialogue ahead; yeh've been warned

** == > Karkat: Experience unpleasant encounter **

The room you’re in is high, towards the top of one of the towers, and icy beyond words. The last day of the cold season is always the worst, and it feels like whatever thinkpan you might have once had is slowly freezing solid. Every exhalation results in a bellow of fog and when you flex your fingers they feel like wood.

Gamzee, of course, is unaffected. Kanaya pumped him full of enough fairy dust to take down an Earth blue whale, and now he’s curled up on the floor at your feet, honking slightly with every breath. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think, _think_ , beyond the leftover adrenaline stuttering sluggishly through your veins and the emotional exhaustion that was the mayor’s death. Oh god, the _mayor_.

“I have never claimed to well accustomed in troll practices.” The voice slices through the air like a machete through tendons, slick and well-practiced. “But I would have thought that keeping a pale mate as a pet would be considered decidedly... out there, for such a reputable straight shooter.”

“How did you get in here?” you demand, and her eyebrow arches, hands spreading as though to indicate that half the walls of this room alone have been torn away, nothing more than an irritating scab to your attackers. “How did you get past the angels?”

“They’re incredibly single minded creatures- at least, after they die the first time. Get them to understand you, and they will follow any order until death. One little carapace travelling the forest path has no hope of attracting attention.” Parcel Mistress shrugs and steps forward. “But that isn’t why I’m here; the ring, Mr Vantas.”

“No fucking way; I may have shown my hand as the worst leader in history tonight, but I’m not a pan-addled wiggler. Tell me where Lord English is, then you can have the ring.” She leans back, regards you; the corners of her lips twitch.

“Interesting; do you not trust me?”

You imagine a laser, being set up for use by a team of scientists. Sheer Fucking Disbelief, phD, heads the project, but is closely assisted by Messrs Disdain and Anger, with some input the lovely Oh My Fucking God I Can’t Believe You Just Said That, MD (she’s mainly here as a first aider, in case something goes wrong). The full focus of this laser’s ray is trained right on Parcel Mistress’ eyes.

You have spent far too much time with Strider.

Parcel Mistress apparently has +20 anti-laser shielding powers, because she just stares coolly back.  Perhaps a different approach is required.

“Since the events of tonight, I am applying nigh-on Cartesian Doubt to everything I ever thought I may have believed or known, including who you say you are. Except, oh, that’s right! You never claim to be anyone, you just appear and disappear at will, you _fucking deliver Lord English’s drugs for him, and I’m supposed to just trust you?”_ A real smile pulls her lips now, and wow, that’s a fucking first. As is this, oh look, she’s pushing her hood back. The bald, shining dome of Howlite that crowns her head reminds you far too much of Doc Scratch, and was that intentional? Possibly, because the smile she’s giving you is one that Scratch would wear, had he a face to plaster it on.

“Show me the ring, and I will tell you. I must ensure that you are not mistaken.” You nod, and pull the ring out of your pocket, holding it up so she can see but maintaining an iron grip lest she try something sneaky. The smile is gone, replaced by an expression of such strong relief you almost feel guilty for seeing it. That lasts a second, then is gone too, and her eyes meet yours with their usual detached coolness.

“Lord English resides in the outer ring, with the angels and the Felt members that he kidnapped.” There is a long pause.

“Bullshit. No one can survive in the outer-ring save for the horrorterrors.”

“What happened to the Cartesian doubt you were employing?”

“Are you trying to tell me that things can live in the outer ring?”

“I’m trying to tell you that things aren’t as simple as they appear.” You snarl at her, before turning and beginning to pace.

“No. No, fuck you, you don’t get to be enigmatic. This is why I kept the ring- because I’m not going to let you fuck me around with your stupid little mind games. I have the ring, you do not. I am the brain and you are the asshole, so when I say shit it out you bloody well shit it out, do you understand?” Fuck civility. Fuck manners, fuck pleasantries, fuck everything else she had always insisted on, because the boot is on the other fucking foot, and it is her turn to dance.

“Very well,” she says, and holy shit, _you didn’t actually expect her to listen to you_. “I had hoped that, by allowing you to work it out for yourself, you would draw other conclusions that could help you even further. Apparently, you just want to eat for a day.” She pulls her hood back up. “Lord English is indeed living in the outer ring, and he and his comrades are surviving by residing in the dream bubbles. Yes, they do not exist, but they will exist, and so by paradox will always have existed. Miss Peixes will be able to make them with her Life powers, perhaps with some assistance from Miss Lalonde. Now- the ring.”

“You’re not finished. How are we supposed to get to the dream bubbles once they’ve been created?” Her expression does not change.

“Oh? No. The agreement that you have bound me by holds that I tell you Lord English’s location. I have fulfilled that. You are going to have to figure the rest out yourself.” You snarl and throw the ring at her with more force than is strictly necessary. She fumbles to catch it, before shooting you a cold glare.

“My my, Mr Vantas- we are good at burning bridges today. At the rate that you’re going, I’ll be impressed if you have any friends left to save at the end of this all.” This said, she slips the ring onto her finger, leaving you alone in the room save for a still slumbering Gamzee.

 

** == > Aradia: Mope with Moirail **

“We fucked up,” you say gloomily.

“Yup,” Sollux replies. The two of you have hunted down one of the few intact living rooms and are lying on the ground, watching the sunrise through the skylight. Your head is on his stomach, and his fingers are slowly combing their way through your hair.

“On a scale of one to ten-“

“A hundred. A hundred thousand. 6.02X10^23 of fucked up.”

“How much does a mole of fuck up weigh?”

“How much do we weigh?” Silence falls between you, save for the soft _scritch_ of his claws against your scalp. You sigh.

“God _damn,_ but we fucked up.”

 

** == > Vriska: Be treated by moirail **

“I told you not to move,” says Tavros crossly when he comes back to find you sat upright, in the process of trying to remember how feet work.

“Yeah, because I’ll definitely listen to you! Give it up, you’ve got the wrong blue blood if you want to be giving orders.” He frowns, and sighs, and pushes you back onto the bed before shining a light into your good eye. “Ach! Fuck off, that’s bright!”

“It doesn’t really work when you don’t have two pupils,” he mutters, staring at the torch as though it’s being deliberately obstinate. “But I don’t really need it to. It’s pretty obvious that you’re concussed.”

“Well then what was the point of that?” You punctuate your question by sitting back up and puking on his feet. He pauses untl you’ve settled back down to reply.

“Because I’m not a medi-culler and that’s what they always do in the Earth shows.”

“Oh my gooooooood, you are not basing my medical care off Grey’s Anatomy are you?” The way he flushes confirms that, yes, he absolutely is. Fucking great.

“Well, would you rather I fetched Jade to tend to you.”

“I only just finished chundering, give me a chance to replenish my stomach acid.”

“Vriska, you’re nothing but acid.”

“Buuuuuuuurn! How long have you been holding on to that one for?” You dutifully swallow the two spoons of medicine he shoves in your face before continuing. “I bet you thought it up ages ago. Back before we were moirails; was it when they got you? When you were pitch and I was red, and the entirety of the bottom of your cage was rust.”

“Vriska-“

“And even the fairies wouldn’t touch the blood. Always looking for fresh skin, untouched, untouched, untouched-“

“Vriska-“

“Shut up, shit blood!” His breath hitches and you stop, don’t even remember what you were saying, don’t even know what point you were getting at. “I’m sorry.”

“Now I know, that you’re concussed.”

“I’m not concussed. I’m just a bitch.” There’s something cold on your head and you start to struggle, until you realise it’s Tavros, and he’s holding a cloth, and it feels nice.

“True, true. But you also told me, once, that you were never interested in, blood castes and everything else, that came with it.” Your brow wrinkles, only for him to smooth it back out; did you say that? “You said that you’re better than people, because you’re better than them, and that your blood has nothing to do with it.”

Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like something you would say. Probably. Definitely something if Equius was around. Was Equius around? You open your mouth to voice the question, but find that your tongue has gone heavy and, without realising it, your eyes have shut. A sharp prod to your stomach forces them open again.

“You’re not meant to sleep, with a head injury.”

“What, is that something else you learned off your show? Stupid Pupa, they’re for humans, not trolls.”

“No, that’s something I learned, from having large horns. You have to stay awake until, they at least have made their preliminary heals. Otherwise... well, look at Equius.” You snort and he grins down at you, putting the cloth aside just long enough to rearrange your pillows so that you’re more upright, before returning to dabbing. “There; that should make you, more awake.”

“Please tell me my horns aren’t cracked?”

“Not visibly. The dangerous thing is micro fractures, or injuries to the base... Vriska!” Your eyes snap back open. “What will help keep you awake?”

“You could tell me a story.” He looks at you doubtfully.

“Isn’t that, what lussii do, to get their wigglers to sleep?”

“Not if you make it an interesting one! Pleeeeeeeease, Tavros!” With a sigh, he acquiesces, shifting to get more comfortable.

“Okay. Um. Interesting story. There once-“ he hesitates, then smiles. “There once was a pirate named Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. She had a long blue coat with ruffles...”

 

** == > Feferi: Be summoned **

What? No. No way, you’re half asleep and kind of shipsy (bait, how much did you drink?!); and besides, Karkat’s too busy feeling guilty to do anything proactive anyway.

Flow back in a couple of hours.

 

** == > Dave: Be distracted from grief **

You give up on fixing the time stream, give up on fixing what happened, and return to the present just to fall on your knees. It’s 79 minutes since you left... 112 minutes since the mayor died. You decide to allow yourself another eight minutes to mourn. Can’t be having any more than that- someone needs to make sure these chuckleheads don’t kill themselves, and Karkat is probably too busy vacillating between self-loathing and self-pity to deal with it. Sometimes, it’s hard being a knight.

You’re cut off three minutes early by a hand resting softly on your shoulder, pointy fingers digging in far more than her claws ever could. You don’t even have to look over your shoulder to know it’s Terezi, and she drops to the floor next to you. The silly dragon cloak she always wears when she feels bad is draped over her shoulders, and she draws her knees up to her chin.

“Hey, Coolkid,” she mutters, voice a far cry from its usual raspy cackle. “How you holding up?”

“Don’t talk to me for, like, three minutes; okay?” You manage, voice tight. She nods, and falls silent... for all of thirty seconds.

“Dave-“

“Oh my fucking god. I thought we agreed it would be awesome if you didn’t bother me for a while. You know, while I grieved over this brutally murdered friend or something.” For a moment, you forget your grief in favour of irritation, casting her a sideways glare that she can almost definitely smell.

“Oh; that’s right. I forgot.” Her voice is small, and bullshit, but whatever. It’s obvious she needs someone to talk to- looks like you’re going to have to assume knightly duties a bit earlier than planned.

“What’s up?”

“Did you love him, Dave?”

“What? No. No, I was making a joke about being broken up about it.” It’s her turn to glare, and you roll your eyes. “Of course I fucking did. I am grieving to the max, like a widow on dead husband island.” Nothing. Not even the faintest twitch of a smile. “Behind these chill as fuck shades my face is having a crazy attack of the sads.” Nada. “My rue is fucking bananas, can’t you tell?”

“No, I can’t!” She gasps, and there are suddenly teal tears coursing from her vacant, jewel-like eyes. “It’s so hard to tell what layer of irony removed from reality your flippant remarks are supposed to be! I just need to- I have to-“ You wrap her in an enormous hug, and yeah, minus thirty swag points for you but whatever. You were gifted with an infinite amount of swag at birth. It bothers you as much as a beach cares when you shoplift its sand between your toes.

The beach don’t give a shit.

“Terezi, you know I care. What’s up with you?” You think she may be snotting on your shoulder. “Terezi?” There’s a hiccup, and a gurgle, and more tears. “Terezi.” You push her away, stare her straight in the sniffer. Ew. “Great, now you’ve gone and double blinded yourself by blocking up that kickass olfactory device. What next, loss of echolocation because you listen to your Metallica too loud? Seriously, you’re acting like a house wife that just watched Titanic for the first time- what’s going on?”

“I’m allowed to be sad, Dave.” All blocked up, her speech is almost as bad as Sollux. _Daif_. “And you are too; just because you think you’re too cool to-“

“I am cool enough to do whatever I want. I could pick my nose and these peasants wouldn’t even realise, so far below me are they on the ladder of awesome. And you know this, so it’s not to do with grief, it’s something else. Spit it out.” Her lips tremble, bleed a little as she worries them with her fangs, then tremble some more.

“I know who’s responsible for the Mayor’s death.” It feels like rigor mortis has grabbed hold of you, locking every muscle so that for a moment you can’t even breathe, let alone reply.

“Who?” You manage eventually. Her face spasms, and in what seems like a single breath she tells you everything: how Kanaya had been fretting in the info room, how she and Terezi had paired up to be temporary moirails, how Kanaya had confessed everything; how Kanaya and Karkat had figured out the location of the ring, how they had gone without telling you, how they had sliced the alarm and left the door in fragments.

You feel numb, as you listen; numb, but like you’re falling, like there’s this great big emptiness rushing through your core, and when the ground tilts beneath your knees you barely bring your hands up in time. Terezi is still talking.

“And so now, I’ve promised to bring her to justice. I’m not going to rest until I see her swing for her crimes.” Wait, what?

“Wait, what?”

“It’s her fault the mayor is dead. I can’t just let that slide! A good legislacerator-“

“A good legislacerator can see the shades of grey,” you bite out, and she pauses. “Or smell them at least.” This is what she’s been shaky about, this is what she’s been searching for validation on: that she’s done the right thing.

_Except she hasn’t._

“It’s not a fucking binary, Terezi, not in things like this. There’s no one person right and one person wrong. There’s at least fifty shades to anything, and goddamn why will no one but Rose ever get my references?” She blinks and, right- meaningful speech. “Yeah, what she and Karkat did was shitty. Incredibly shitty. Like, island of sewage plants can’t deal with it shitty. But the only ones who killed him- to use your word, the only ones who _murdered_ him- were the angels. They’re the assholes we need to bring to justice. Not Kanaya.”

“But she- she-“

“For fuck’s sake, I get that you’re upset, I get that nothing gets you off like the word justice, and I get that when things go wrong you need to have someone at fault, because you think that by punishing them you’re fixing it. But you’re not, Terezi. It’s not going to bring the mayor back, and it’s not going to make things better. You’re just adding fuel to the fire that heats the warm vat of crap which is our lives.” There is a pregnant pause; you’d estimate at least 15 buns in that oven, one for every second she stares unmovingly at you.

“I’m... I’m a fucking idiot.” The tension snaps, and you bite back a relieved laugh. Thank fuck. You can’t believe that _actually worked._ Plus thirty swag points for comforting hysterical dames, particularly hysterical, _murderous_ dames.

“Nah; just bad at dealing with your emotions. I personally can’t scramble eggs for shit.” This, _finally,_ gets the twitch of a smile you’d been hoping for. “And Egbert’s pretty fucking horrific when it comes to peanuts, or just nuts in general. Maybe that’s why he’s ‘not a homosexual.’” You imitate John’s horrified squeak; dude’s voice hadn’t broken yet, and as such reproduction can only be achieved through falsetto. Coughing from the effort, you shoot her a grin.

 The answering smile may be watery, but it’s fucking there, and that’s all you ask for.

 

** == > Nepeta: Fret **

You stare at the piece of paper clutched in one hand, entitled _Customers (13 December- 27 January, Earth Calendar)_ in no-nonsense blue letters, complete with a single underline. Beneath it is a list of everyone who had bought Angel Blood from a particular Prospitian supplier, who lives in a cave near the crossroads of four major cities. The most random of suppliers; someone you’d never know about unless you lived locally.

And yet the name is there, right beneath Clara Mabring (Human, Female). The question is whether you tell Karkat about it.

Well of course you tell Karkat, but Jade only prepared three vials of Cadaver-B-Gone and you’ve already used two of them sending other messages. There’s still three days left of this assignment, and you want to save the last vial in case something of emergency status comes up. Not to mention you don’t have anyone to kill handy, since if any of your ‘colleagues’ went missing the alarm would surely be raised.

You pull a match out the drawer, strike it, and light the corner of the paper. It quickly burns, curling away to nothing in your palms, and you dust the ashes into the ink well. Don’t want to give anyone a reason to suspect, after all.

It can wait three days. For all you know, it doesn’t even concern Beta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Broke 50 000 words we have, making this the second longest thing I've ever written, and the longest plotty thing , which I' pretty exultant about! We've also surpassed 100 kudos, so thanks so much to everyone who's taken the time to read this and hit that button (extra love goes out to the people who comment)! Thanks for reading!


	20. Chapter 20

** == > Karkat: Ignore shame **

 

You are the worst moirail. It is you.

But what Parcel Mistress said rang true. You are too stressed, have been for months, and it’s affecting your rationality, your decisions, your general competence. Gamzee is your moirail, serendipity tried and tested, but right now you have to think of every other asshole that was somehow unfortunate enough to land themselves under your inept excuse for protection. You need to calm down, and no amount of wishing will get Gamzee to help with that. Wishing is for wigglers anyway; you’ve been a leader long enough, hell, you’ve been _alive_ long enough to have done a lot of things that go against your personal beliefs. Really, this pales in comparison.

Heh. Pales.

The door is tatty: white birch wood scuffed with marks where innumerable desperados in situations similar to yours have pounded and kicked, demanding entry, demanding pacification. You rap on it sharply, three times, and try to fix an almost pleasant smile on your face when it swings open.

After all, sex workers are people too.

It’s a human, like the majority of pale prostitutes are. Cultural differences mean that they have fewer qualms than others might, and- gang humans aside- they’re just generally so unthreatening. Perfect material for a Minute Moirail.

She’s chubby, soft lines of fat curving out from her body, sweet round face dimpled into a calm smile. The jumper she’s wearing looks like cashmere, the long cotton skirt billowing gently around her ankles, and her hair is long enough to play with but short enough that it won’t get in the way. She looks like she’d be scared of a fly.

“Oh no, honey! You look awful- what’s the matter? No, wait: let me get the pile set up, then you can tell me all about it.” Her voice is like sweet tree sap, and you’ve seen enough pale pornos to know how this goes. Leaving your shame on the doorstep, you step into the room.

 

 

** == > Dave: Auspisticize **

 

This wasn’t one of your better ideas.

Being the swagalicious dude you are, you are up to your neck in ideas so sick, they make the Spanish flu turn its head in shame. Unfortunately, like the unwanted runt of the litter, like the Karkat of Alternia, this idea was born wrong.

“You need to go apologise to Kanaya. Like, pronto.”

“But Daaaaaaaaaaaave-“

“You know you sound like Vriska when you do that?”

“Of fuck off, Coolkid.”

“Seriously, though, she’s a rainbow drinker, not a steak. Don’t leave her marinate.” She’d huffed a sigh, but reluctantly nodded. “And-“ her eyebrows shot up, “you have to give her a free hit.”

“What? No! Why?”

“Because nobody likes a hypocrite. And you deserve to be _brought to delicious justice_ ” you’d imitated her raspy cackle “for what you did to her.”

“But I didn’t do anything to her!”

“You inflicted gross emotional trauma.”

“That’s not a crime!”

“Neither is murder, according to Alternia.” She’d glared at you, and just to really drive the point home she’d sniffed at you extra aggressively and shown off all five billion of her stupidly pointy teeth in a grimace that made it look like her foot was being chewed off. But she’d also agreed.

The two of you had found Kanaya, still sniffling violently in a pathetic little huddle in the corner of the room where Terezi had left her. The teal blood had stared at her feet, metaphorically speaking, the entire apology, mumbling and mincing her words and generally making a mess of it, but Kanaya clearly got the idea. Then Terezi told her about the free hit, and Kanaya nodded, stood up, and walked forward.

This was where things went pear shaped, banana shaped, kumquat shaped, you just had an entire fucking fruit basket of things going wrong. Because you’d thought Kanaya would refuse. You’d thought maybe she wouldn’t touch her, maybe she’d just flick her in the face, maybe she would bluff a hit only to tap her on the arm; something. But you had been sure she would take the moral high ground, and that no blow would land.

You’d forgotten that Kanaya was a multi-faceted being with a personality outside of being prim and kind of intimidating.

She’d stepped forward. Stared Terezi dead in her glassy red eyes. Took a deep breath. Took another. Glanced at their feet and shifted so that she was facing Terezi at an angle. Drew back her arm.

And landed a punch that sent Terezi flying.

Which is where you are now. Stood, gaping between the two of them as Kanaya rubs her knuckles and Terezi howls with rage and fury, realising that this really wasn’t one of your better ideas.

Kanaya got her square in the bridge of the nose, right where art teachers tell you to sketch out a third eye for proportion, like they don’t realise that just managing two is hard enough, and you don’t fucking need proportion, fuck you very much, you base mouths off pork chops so they can go suck it. From the crack it sounds like it broke into many, many pieces, and even as you stare you can see the gush of teal blood start streaming out, like she’s got a rapidly melting snow cone squirreled away up in her sinuses.

“I cang’t thee,” she chokes out, and wow, a blocked nose is nothing compared to this. “You fukbthing bibth, youbth blinded be!”

“I know,” Kanaya says primly, examining one of her knuckles on which the skin split. She sucks it absent mindedly before recoiling back in disgust, and huh, maybe that’s a rainbow drinker thing. “I just had to make sure that punishment was duly received.”

“Thibth wabth-“ The horrible mangle of sounds she produces is probably meant to be the word ‘disproportionate’, though it could also be the cry of Cthulu from the deep. “The pumngibshet shoubdl fit the cribe!”

“Really? Because I always thought the motto of the Alternian legal system was ‘Never forgive and never forget’. That, or ‘Anything for justice.’ I can see why it’s your chosen profession, Terezi: it suits you so well.” Oh fuck. Kanaya is taking all the misery she had a few minutes ago and turning it into anger. What is with these troll girls and not knowing how to correctly channel their feelings?

Maybe you should buy them a treadmill.

Then you think of the time you ended up strifing Bro on the roof for six hours because the dishes hadn’t been done for weeks and neither of you could agree who’s turn it was. Perhaps you’ve just become acquainted with the kettle.

“I wong’t be able to thee for weebs! I cang’t work!” Terezi’s pushing herself up, hands fumbling for her cane, and crap, this is escalating.

“I’m sure you’ll still be perfectly proficient at stabbing people even when you can’t distinguish their blood colour!”

Kanaya worked up like this is rare. Really rare. You can probably count on one hand the number of times you know of it happening. Once, that you saw, when an (at the time) unknown gang had tried to kidnap Karkat. She exploded their car, killed the assailants, then found out who was behind it, hunted her down and chopped her head off. Another time, when apparently a blue blood had put a hand up her skirt and lost the hand. And of course, when she and Eridan undertook some mission in the deserts of Alternia. She’d come back a rainbow drinker; he’d come back chainsawed in half. Karkat had burnt the file for that, and snapped that past events don’t apply under rule five, so no one really knows what happened.

To say you’re worried about what’s going to happen now would be true, if you were the kind of lame ass punk who let shit worry him.

Instead, you have skipped worried and headed straight to internally freaking out, don’t pass go, don’t collect 200 boon bucks.

“Angd wha bdo you bdo? Besibes lickingb Karkat’th thfeet and callib him sir!” She finds her cane and uses it to push herself to her feet. “Ubless lookingb bretty ith a job ngow!”

“I sort the files.” Kanaya’s pulling out her lipstick and Terezi’s got her cane unsheathed. This has turned into a fully fledged crisis, all ready to leave the nest and fly straight into a jet engine. “I arrange the meetings, I organise the memos so that people can actually tell what’s going on, I control the staffing, I pay the wages, I oversee the supplies, I balance the books, I. Run. This organisation.” Her voice has been getting louder and higher with each one, and now she stands, rigid, every muscle tense as a bowstring and eyes so wide the iris is floating free. “Karkat may be the figurehead, but in nautical terms he is nothing more than the mermaid at the front while I am the captain. I am the only thing standing between you and your idiotic fall to a swift death in freezing waters, because you and everyone else in this **shithole** that has become my life are too self absorbed to realise that the deck has an edge. Do you realise what it is like, dealing with you all? It is worse than herding meowbeasts. It’s like trying to get blood from a stone because you cannot leave the hot coals you are stood on until you do!”

The lipstick blurs into a chainsaw. The blades are drawn from the cane. Kanaya opens her mouth to continue, and you decide that now might be a _really good time_ to stage an intervention.

“Stop it!” You yell, jumping between them as though they couldn’t literally rip out your throat. That’s the best approach with dangerous females- act like you don’t think they’re dangerous, so that they get confused and doubt themselves.

Yeah, you’re probably going to leave this encounter with scars.

“Steb asibe Bave,” snarls Terezi.

“If you do not move I shall be forced to go straight through you,” agrees Kanaya, and they both crane around you to glare at each other for that.

“No, you two need to stop! Seriously! Could you have chosen a worse time to play ‘psychopathic middleschoolers who want to stab each other with compasses’? Terezi, are you fucking stupid, you can’t fight blind- _more_ blind! And Kanaya, seriously, you will regret this in the morning! Even if it’s only because teal blood would look horrible stained next to your sign.”

“I intend to drink her dry,” she spits, and wow, euphemism alert. Maybe just this once you’ll let it slide without comment, though, given the furious growling noise Terezi’s giving off even through her blood blocked passages.

“No, you fucking won’t. Either stop this right now, or I swear to god I will freeze time and lock you in separate closets on opposite sides of the building. You think I’m sexy now, just wait until you see me in a nanny’s outfit.” The growling has stopped, and both of them are just staring at you, so you continue. “There are probably really useful things we could be doing right now, like _fixing the fucking building_ , if you could get over your stupid troll hate-lust for two fucking seconds! It’s not exactly K2 we’re talking here, just an itty bitty little hurdle called _not having rage sex right after we’ve all been attacked!”_ You finish, breathing heavily, and realise they are both still stood there staring at you. “What?”

“Dave,” begins Kanaya, at the same time Terezi chokes out a scandalised

“Argh you tryingb to authbpitithbe for uth?”

“I would answer if I knew what you just asked.”

“Are you trying to act as our auspistice?” You stop.

“What? No, I was just trying to get you to... oh. Shit. What can I say, I’m just Mr Mediator. Terezi’s not the Libra of this situation, it’s me, negotiator, compromise reacher, master of the free world.”

“Is that a yes?”

“How should I know? You’re the crazy troll chicas, not me.”

“Right.” Kanaya takes a step back, dusts herself off, and gives you an odd look. Then she cranes around you, and you realise that she and Terezi are having a kind of silent conversation; this, of course, makes about as much sense as wings on a brick, seeing how Terezi is currently double blind. Despite this, they seem to come to sort of conclusion. “Good day, Dave,” she says stiffly. “Terezi.”

“Kagnaya.”

“Bye?”

Kanaya spins on her heel and leaves the room. Terezi steps up to you, tries to take a deep sniff, chokes a little on her on blood, and then moves to follow. She hesitates at the door, turning to side-eye you- or perhaps it’s just because her hearing is one of her few remaining senses that work.

“Goob bday, bDath.”

You stare at the door for a few seconds, willing it to explain what the fuck just happened.

The bastard keeps mum.

 

 

** == > Rose: Have another feelings jam **

 

You don’t know if you would call it that: it’s more like a confession of sorts. A confession of the good kind, which sort of stirs all the parts of your heart that have yet to fall to sarcasm and cynicism. It starts when you blink yourself awake, Eridan’s hand still in your hair, and roll over to see that he’s half-awake too.

“Mornin’.”

“Good morning, if it even is that. How are you feeling?”

“My shoulder hurts like a bitch. You?”

“About the same, but generalised. No second thoughts about last night?” This snaps him awake, and he half-rolls over so he can look at you head-on.

“What? No! No, a course not. Unless you...?”

“No regrets from me either,” you tell him, putting him out of his misery. “Several questions though.” He continues to eye you warily, like he’s scared you’ll laugh in his face, yell psyche, walk out. It’s honestly a bit heartbreaking, and for a second you’re surprised to feel that before you remember this is what you’re meant to be feeling now. “Mainly, when and how?”

“Last night, on a pile.” Some of the concern seems to leave him, and he smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at you. You wiggle yours back, and oh, it’s cute when trolls blush their blood colour.

“No, but in all honesty, I am curious. I believe one of the first things I did upon meeting you was threaten to stab you. That’s not exactly a pale romance in the making. Well extremely happy with how things have turned out, I am curious to know the process behind it.”

Eridan settles back onto the cushions, looking contemplative. It’s a different posture to last night- earlier today?- more relaxed and stretched out, rather than curled up protectively around you. For a moment he is quiet, staring at the ceiling while he ponders. Then he smiles.

“Yeah, I suppose I did see you as a possible kismesis at first. You were just so- you were the antithesis to everythin’ I held, ‘specially after you started usin’ your stupid fake magic that turned out ta not be fake. You were smug, and sarcastic, and superior, and I thought that I had finally moved on from Sol.”

“When you put it like that, _I_ almost want to be my kismesis,” you joke, and he chuckles.

“Yeah, but then... well, it was probably after you came back from meetin’ your human dancestors for the first time. You looked so miserable, but you refused ta say anythin’ was wrong, even when someone- I think it mighta been Kar- asked you.” He chuckles again. “Well, I guess I was lost after that. Rose, you are so much bluster, and bravado, and you are tryin’ so hard ta be the best, even when it doesn’t work. You refuse ta show anythin’ gets you down, and watchin’ you bumble around tryin’ ta impress Kanaya... what can I say? You’re pitiful.”

You consider feeling offended for all of half a millisecond before wrapping him up in a massive hug, because cultural differences or not, you’ve seen enough troll romcoms to know that what he just said was downright romantic.

“I pity you too,” you whisper, and giggle, and oh fuck now you’re the one blushing. It’s like you’ve regressed back to your twelve year old self, when that one boy from the highschool with the lip piercing and the Poe tattoo said he’d date you if you were five years older. “I know that you’re not actually as desperate as you want everything to think. And that you don’t actually want a doomsday device. And that you don’t even like jewellery that much.”

“I’ve hated it for sweeps,” he breaths. “It always gets in the fuckin’ way.”

“But you’re scared of what they’ll say if you change it. So you maintain your facade, almost a masquerade that you’ve got going, because you invented a character for yourself and now you don’t know what you’d be without it.” He nods and wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer.

“Absolutely terrified.”

“You’ll be Eridan, without it. And you’ll probably find that the others like you a lot more. Even if they don’t... you’ll still have me.” He presses his lips to your forehead, and if this was a movie now would be the moment fireworks go off, forming a white diamond in the background of you tableau as you share this one, perfect moment.

Instead of fireworks, you get Jade.

“ _Alright, fuckasses! You’ve had twelve hours to rest, but now it’s time to get back to work! There is a fuckton of holes in this building, and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am not equipped to deal with the cold it’s letting in. So! Everyone to the front corridor in ten minutes- that’s the one that looks like swiss cheese right now. Operation ‘Fix FRAF’ is go!”_ The intercom crackles off again, and you smile, pushing yourself to your feet.

“Our lady has spoken. Eridan, shall we go.”

“Not with you lookin’ like that, we won’t.” He decaptchalogues a brush and starts pulling it through your hair. “There’s the walk a shame and then there’s this rats nest at the moment. Christ, Rose, your hair is short! How have you managed this?”

“How would I know; it was your claws that were running through it all last night!”

“Don’t blame the claws, you know you found them soothin’. Okay, there, I suppose you can go out like that.” Your smile widens, and you squeeze his hand.

“Pale for you.”

“Pale for you too. Now let’s go, before Jade literally bites our head off.”

 

 

** == > Jade: Commence repairs **

 

“I don’t see why we can’t bring back the consorts and get them to do it. It’s like, their entire fucking job!”

Honestly, you can sort of see where Vriska is coming from. There is A LOT of work to do, mainly to do with fixing the walls so that the humans and anyone below teal on the hemospectrum doesn’t freeze. Even as you stand, you can feel the cold creeping into your bones, but then there is a flash of light and the room seems to warm. You flash Rose a grateful smile and she returns it, pocketing her wands.

“Because anyone who is even remotely familiar with the rules of this organisation will understand that since we are still under significant threat, to do so would be a direct violation.” It’s kind of cute how protective Equius gets of the consorts; sort of like, ‘these are my people, you shall not harm my people, I will protect them with STRENGTH.’ A massive mama bear, really.

“Besides,” you chirp, “it will be good for us to have something to do besides mope. Think of it as a bonding experience!” She shoots you a flat glare, but sighs, flips her hair, and grabs a hammer.

For now, you’re focusing on the holes that lead directly to the outside, making sure to get them patched up before the warmth drains out of the rest of the building. It turns out Rose gave you all a sort of travelling pocket of hot air that envelopes you as you work, which is nice, but by the end of an hour you are dripping sweat.

“Hey, Jade?” Asks Tavros as the two of you carry a load of lumber to yet another hole. “Do you know, uh, what’s going on, with Rose, and Eridan?” You glance down the corridor, where Eridan and Rose are arguing about overexertion of magic.

“What were you fuckin’ thinkin?” he shouts, even as you watch. Rose is propped woozily up on the least broken table of the area, and seems to be smoking slightly. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’ta spoken to you like that. But come on, Rose, that boulder was the size a the grand highblood- not even Sol’ coulda picked it up himself.”

“Fuck you, ED!”

“This is not about you right now! Rose, seriously, just take a break from the magic; just for today. Please?” She nods, and they hug, and behind them Sollux is gaping, and behind you you’re sure Tavros is doing the same.

“Nepeta is going to flip her shit when she finds out!” you giggle, resuming carrying. “I don’t think she even thought to have it on her wall!”

“Did, well, did anyone see, that one coming?”

“I suppose not; but people find moirails in the weirdest places. Look at you and Vriska! When she told Karkat, oh my god, I thought he was going to faint! He went all pale and shook his head, and then he just walked out without saying anything.”

“Him and, uh, Gamzee is kind of strange too.” The lumber hits the carpet with a muffled _thud_ , and you hold up the planks while he drives the nails in. “Like, with their personalities and stuff; but I suppose it works.”

“Dos it, though?” you muse, wincing slightly: the vibration of the hammer striking runs down your arms, and as soon at the first board is in place you step away. “No, there has to be a better way to do this.”

“Stretching the board is just a matter of pretending you’re in MSPaint, or something like that- stretch it up, stretch it along, and suddenly it covers the entire hole. You grab a hammer too, and the both of you get to work on securing it in place.

“What do you mean, when you say, ‘does it’? Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. When was the last time you saw the two of them together? I know Karkat has a thing against PDAs, but they used to chat and hold hands and stuff. And Karkat has been super stressed. When was the last time they were even in the same room?”

“Gamzee’s had to go, well, go cold turkey. Nothing but dust, not even Faygo. That, uh, seems like something which could, well, put strain. On a relationship.” Board in place, you begin filling the gaps between it and the original wall, where there are some, with foam to keep the draft out.

“So that’s why I haven’t seen him; he’s been with you this whole time!” You wiggle your eyebrows and Tavros flushes. “Tell all!”

“There isn’t, well, anything to tell. You said Karkat, was stressed; Gamzee has been too, and acting, super weird.”

“Like how?”

“Just getting really angry all of a sudden, and then, well, calming down. Like highblood rages.” You pause, turn to him.

“Doesn’t that mean Karkat is doing his job as a moirail right?”

“I don’t know if, uh, Karkat even knows. He-“ Tavros suddenly stops, glances at you sideways, then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“Tavros Nitram!”

“No, seriously Jade, I, uh, can’t. Karkat made me, file it under rule four.”

“I’m invoking rule four then.”

“Jade, please don’t- uh, Jade? Why is Terezi-“ There’s the sound of a splash, and then an outraged shriek behind you. You spin to see Terezi and Kanaya glaring at each other, white paint dripping down Kanaya’s skirt and dress.

“Sorry! It was an accident! You can’t expect a blind girl to see what she’s doing, can you?”

“You did that on purpose, and I demand you apologise right now or so help me, Terezi Pyrope, I will-“

“They’ve been arguing, all morning,” Tavros whispers to you as they start shouting. “About everything. It’s almost like, well, like they’re black flirting. Except, uh, not? It’s weird.”

“Perhaps if your lusus hadn’t had more important things to do than look after you, you wouldn’t have grown up such a detestable little urchin!”

“That’s it!” Weirdly enough, Terezi throws her cane _away_ before lunging at Kanaya. Kanaya does the same with her lipstick, and they go head over heels, a tumbling mass of punching and kicking and angry yelling. Everyone’s eyes are on them, and you rush forward.

“Stop it right now! We have more important things to do than fight, so stop it!”

“Who asked you, Miss Sticky Booger?” snarls Terezi, narrowly dodging Kanaya’s fist to her mouth.

“Yes, I’m quite certain we never wanted your advice.” Terezi bites her shoulder, but with one sharp jab she elbows Terezi in the sternum.

“Do us all a favour and butt out!” They continue to roll, you watching on unsure how to best proceed. You are saved from having to do so by the arrival of Dave, who stops them by- glaring down impassively? They halt in a sheepish huddle, before quickly pulling themselves to their feet.

“For fuck’s sake, I was gone for two minutes. Not even that, I was gone for 98 seconds. Seriously? I have not watched enough Super Nanny to deal with this shit.” They stayed silent. “Oh, so are you done? Or do you want to whine a bit more because someone swallowed your Lego?” Silence. “Jesus, get back to what you were doing. The pair of you make me want to cry.”

They comply.

Dave turns, sees the entire room gaping at him, flips you all off with a double bird majestic enough to make a bald eagle cry, and nopes right the fuck back out of there via time travel. For a moment, everyone is too stunned to move. Then a small giggle manages to push its way out your mouth, followed by another, until you’re practically crying with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” asks Tavros as you clutch him for support.

_“Nepeta is going to flip her **shit** when she finds out.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write! It's a personal headcanon that the two side branches of the auspistice club get really prickly and hostile if someone else tries to auspistice for them


	21. Chapter 21

** == > Karkat: Deal **

Your first order of business upon returning to the building is to sleep for a solid eight hours. You can’t even remember the last time you managed more than a catnap, and leaving the human’s room, it suddenly hits you all at once just how tired you are. There isn’t even time to get to a recuperacon- you just drop like a sack of potatoes right on your office floor.

Once you've woken up, your next order of business is to work out what subsequent orders of business should be. A list is quickly written:

  *          GET DREAM BUBBLES WORKING WITH LALONDE AND PEIXES
  *          FIX BUILDING
  *          RESUME OPERATIONS FOR WINDY SEASON
  *          APOLOGISE TO KANAYA
  *          CONTACT DOC SCRATCH
  *          NIGGLING FEELING



It’s amazing how cathartic the list is: its simple presence is enough to make you feel better. It’s a plan, a way forward, and those little bullet points are like X’s on a treasure map. Go here. Do this. Everything will work out eventually.

It takes three yells for a consort before you remember that none of them are here, so you end up using the intercom to get them instead. It’s barely used because the consorts are normally around, and in a proper emergency it’s completely off limits just because you know that everyone would be talking down it at one. They claim they wouldn’t, but they would. If they can’t even behave on the memos then you are absolutely not trusting them with microphones.

“You radioed?” Half a glance shows that Lalonde is feeling better, eyes fresh and hair neatly brushed. Feferi looks hungover, but she’s not injured and doesn’t seem to be on the verge of breaking down from PTSD, so you’re certainly not complaining.

“Good news: the universe has finally realised it’s going to need more fibre in its diet if it wants to keep shitting on me and has temporarily wandered off to find some veg. In the brief reprieve that gives us, I have developed a plan. Yes, once again your incredibly handsome and hardworking leader arrives to scoop you like a mighty shovel out of the metaphorical litterbox of life. You’re welcome.”

“Karkat, has someone given you fairy dust? Because despite your usual coarse language, you sound... downright jolly.”

“No, Lalonde, I am not on drugs, fuck you very much. I am making the most of opportunities, I am seizing the moment- I am carping the fuck out of this diem. So, would you like to hear a plan so ingenious your pans melt right of your ears into a puddle of shame and ineptitude?” Feferi grins sideways at Lalonde, who purses her lips slightly and nods.

“Shore thing, Karcrab! It must be a halibut plan to put you in so good a mood!” Lalonde nods again, but she’s looking at you with a sort of shrewd intensity, like she’s trying to take you apart and figure out what makes you tick. It would chafe, if you weren’t so determined for it not to.

“Simply put: I know where Lord English and the angels are hiding. You two are going to set us up a path to get there, and we’re going to hit them right where it hurts. We’ll be able to orchestrate everything, down to the punches.”

“How?”

“Because,” you grin and they lean away, looking at you like you’re about to set the building on fire, “we have an omniscient being on our side.”

The plan is easily explained after that, and despite some hesitation they agree to go with it. Lalonde pulls out her crystal ball and proceeds to do her creepy séance thing, with the glowing hair and the eyes rolled back, while Peixes munches her way through an entire bag of grubcorn that she’d apparently had with her. You’re torn between not wanting to watch communion with the horrorterrors and not wanting to watch those fangs at work; luckily, you chose to wear interesting shoes today.

Once it’s done, Lalonde is left with eight sheets of Eldritch writing she says will take her two, maybe three days to translate, with the promise to go straight to Peixes when she has. They leave, Lalonde still shooting you cagey looks, and the door closes behind them. You grin, cross off the top item of your list, and add another to the bottom:

  *          GIVE EVERYONE MOTIVATIONAL SPEECH



 

 

** == > John: Reunite with loving father **

You think the receptionist behind the desk is flirting with you, and you’re not sure how you feel about that. At least, you’re pretty sure she’s flirting with you. Dave says you need to get better at recognising it, so that you don’t accidentally go crushing people’s heart with your manly boot covered feet.

And she’s doing the coy giggle, big eyes meeting yours then glancing away from you, lots of eyelash fluttering, wow, that is a lot of eyelash fluttering; you’re honestly impressed they can move that fast, particularly with what are either false lashes or broom heads attached. It’s like watching a hummingbird in flight.

Except now she’s pulling out a bottle of eye drops and her colleague has come to take over instead. Welp. Guess maybe this time you didn’t quite read the signals right.

“Sorry,” says the colleague, “she gets awful hayfever. Who did you say you were looking for?”

“Uh, Mr Egbert. He transferred here about three weeks ago.”

“And are you a relation, or...?”

“I’m his son. John. John Egbert.” The new receptionist gives you a sympathetic smile, before leaning over the desk and pointing down the hall.

“Room 283,” he says, “towards the end, on the left. Visiting hours finish in about forty minutes- we’ll come get you then. If you need anything, just come back here.” You try and fail to return the smile, give him a jerky nod instead, and leave with a final glance at the other receptionist, who seems to be fine again save for the river of tears pouring down her face.

“Come in,” calls your dad, and you ease yourself into the room.

He’s attached to at least three different machines, all continuously beeping with some stats or other. There are tubes in his nose and an IV in his wrist, not to mention something on his finger and something else on his arm. His head, always shaved in the time you’ve known him, has lost its stubble and is now completely smooth. There are bags under his eyes, and you’re pretty sure you could fit your fingers around his bicep with ease.

Despite all this, his face lights up when he sees you.

“John!” You take the proffered arms and wrap him up in a hug that you’re careful to make sure isn’t too tight. He feels frail beneath you, like the lanterns you used to make when you were little: tissue paper stretched over reeds, one wrong move and he’ll break. A lump rises in your throat.

“Hey Dad. Hey. How are you?”

“I’m as good as can be expected. I’ve put on some weight, which the doctor says is a good sign, and there’s been no spread since you last saw me. I’ve finally earned the name Egbert!” He indicates his bald head with a lopsided grin, which fades as he pulls you into another hug. “But I don’t want to hear about me. I want to hear about you- you and Jane. What have you two been up to?” You sit in the chair, a loud _fluuuurp!_ Escaping as you do. A quick investigation comes up with a whoopee cushion, one you recognise as the bane of your life a couple of years ago. It didn’t matter so much when your dad did it to you, but when he did it to the headmaster one parent’s meeting... oh god.

“We’re good thanks Dad. I’ve been doing a lot of travelling recently- look, I went to China!” You pull out your authentic, made in China, Chinese finger trap and he grins.

“Still with the marketing firm? You’re doing a good job, John, particularly since you dropped out of school- and considering the situation. I am so, so proud of you.” He takes your hand and squeezes it, and you want to die. If he ever knew the truth... he would be so disappointed in you. He’d probably never look at you the same way again. John Egbert, drug dealer. John Egbert, gang member. Who could be proud of that?

“Thanks, dad. But seriously, I do want to know about this place- Are they treating you well? Are they listening?”

“As well as I need. The showers could be hotter I suppose, but tepid water is probably to stop me somehow killing myself. I have to say, though, definitely not a fan of the food. There’s no cake!”

“Bluh! Dad, that’s a good thing! Eating Batterwitch isn’t going to do anything but make you sicker.” Particularly since you now know who actually runs it. Your dad just shrugs non-comitally and pulls out a pipe. “Dad!”

“What? I’ll deal with my addiction after I’ve dealt with my lung cancer.” Then he gets a sly look in his eyes and shows you the other end of the pipe: it’s filled with sherbet sticks. “Sugar cravings are hard. They’re hard and no one understands.” He takes a drag, shoulders shaking with silent mirth. You grin and laugh too.

When the nurse comes to tell you that visiting hours are over, you’re both half crying with laughter over the pink hair dye you put in Dave’s shampoo. As you collect your things, your dad smiles ruefully.

“As soon as I’m done with this damn treatment, I want to meet this Strider fellow. He sounds like a good laugh.” Then the smile slips away, and he reaches for your hand. “Tell Jane to come visit me, okay? I know she’s busy with work, I know you both are, but if she has a moment...”

He looks so sad, you just want to break something. Preferably over Jane’s head for how awful she’s been, but short of that a china shop will do. Instead you nod, and kiss him on the forehead.

“Yeah, I will. And I’ll be back as soon as I can- three weeks tops, I swear.” He shakes his head.

“Don’t swear, John. That will only work out badly for the both of us. And besides,” he swats your arm, “I raised you better than to use foul language in any situation!” It’s one of his weaker jokes, but you laugh anyway and hug him goodbye. As you pass the reception desk, a voice calls

“Excuse me! Mr Egbert!” It’s the receptionist from earlier; she gives you an apologetic look despite her bloodshot and watery eyes. “I’m sorry to bother you, but according to the files there’s no insurance. Now, the costs have been paid until the end of the month, but after that...” She trails off.

“Yeah, the insurance company won’t insure him now he’s sick, so I’m paying for it using, you know, normal money. Out of pocket. Anyway, I can have the next three months paid by the end of the week.” She smiles.

“That’s exactly what I needed to hear. Have a good night, Mr Egbert!”

You step out into the cold night air and decide to take a walk instead of immediately heading back. After all, you have a lot to think about.

 

** == > Karkat: Continue your way down list **

You barely even have time to settle down again after Equius leaves- it took an hour, but you’d finally managed to work something out about the fucking consorts. You never thought you’d sink so low as to actually wish he would just take orders from you- when there’s a polite rap at the door. Four knocks: an organisation member, but not FRAF. Sometimes, with how busy everything gets, you forget the underlings even exist; it’s not like you deal with them much on a day-to-day basis. That’s more Harley or Ampora’s domain. Still, you let them in.

There’s two of them- a human and a young carapace. The human you think you recognise, have seen her talking to Kanaya a few times. A lackey from the administrative side of things, if you remember right. Underneath what is possibly the ugliest fucking make up your ganderbulbs have ever had the misfortune of being exposed to, her eyes are gunmetal grey and almost worryingly intelligent, fixed on the carapace like a meowbeast watching a fish in a bowl.

The carapace is completely oblivious, staring up at you- and fuck, he must be really young if he’s staring _up_ , normally any carapace more important than a peon beats you by at least two inches- with his chin jutting out and the slant of his shoulders dripping self importance.

“Sir,” says the human, “there was a knock on the door this morning. May I present you with the _honourable_ Remi Huntington.” The significance of that isn’t lost on you: if he doesn’t have at least one carapace title by now, he’s not even fourteen human years. “He’s come to offer us his _invaluable_ assistance.” There’s a strange lilting quality to her voice, dragging certain words out as though she’s savouring them. It doesn’t sound sarcastic, per se, but it’s not pleasant: like a lawyer repeating your answers back to you, trying to impress upon you just how fucked you are. Remi either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, stepping forward and puffing himself up. He looks like a kitten that needs to sneeze.

“I heard that you, and by extension your organisation, have been running into some trouble these past few months: gang warfare, lack of funding, trouble from the authorities. The list goes on, so I decided to help you out.”

“Oh, did you now?” You try to keep your voice as neutral as possible.

“Yes. Honestly, the way things have been handled is shocking: it’s as though none of you have any idea how to run a business.”

“We’re clearly in need of your expertise.”

“Oh, absolutely. Now, obviously I’ll be needed in a leadership position- you can still be figurehead, I’m happy with pulling the strings from behind the scenes. I’ll be handling transactions, negotiating deals, and basically just deciding what direction this organisation needs to move in, particularly in regards to the share-holders. However, I’m also incredibly stealthy, and especially intelligent even for a carapace from as good a family as I am-“

“Sorry, what family is that?”

“The Bo’ Herring family, with a winged adder as our seal. Honestly, though, I don’t want to talk about my family, they’re so excruciatingly uninteresting, absolutely no plans beyond their next function. But anyway, like I was saying, with my stealth and intelligence, coupled with my deft firearm skills, you’ll probably also want me as your head spy- is that what they’re called, or are they agents? Regardless, I-“

You let him prattle on, considering the possibilities. You’ve heard of the Bo’ Herring family- the darlings of Prospit, the family Strider once described as “Carapace Kardashians”, whatever that means. Their wealth and their intelligence appear inversely proportionate, and they are very, very wealthy. No doubt the human has already reached the same conclusion as you, since she didn’t kick him out the moment he walked in. Which reminds you-

“How did you find us?” He stumbles mid sentence, blinks at you. “This building is meant to be hidden, but you just sauntered up to the fucking door. How?”

“Well it’s not like it was hard!” His voice has that whiny note that rich parents seem to train into their children. “One of the locals saw the lights of your attack the other day, so I went in the direction he pointed me in. Then I just followed the footprints through the tunnel, and here I am. If that’s so difficult to figure out then you need my help even more than I realised!”

“You followed the footprints?”

“Do you not speak plain English? Yes, the footprints. God, am I talking to a wall?” You ignore him, turning instead to the human.

“Take him to Serket and tell her to prepare the guest suite for him. Tell her I expect he be given the royal treatment.” You think how the word _royal_ will drip out of her mouth, and shudder. “After that, there’s admin to do. Five million boonbucks, to be raised to seven million on their initial refusal. If need be we can send a giftbox.” She nods and pulls out a zip tie.

“If you could just give me your wrists, Mr _Honourable_ Huntington.” He sputters and you draw your tiny automatic handgun (which you’ve never actually shot, but holy fuck does it look good), clicking the safety to get his attention.

“Your wrists, fuckdimple.” He acquiesces. “Think of this as a valuable learning experience. We noticed you’re a fucking idiot, so we’re going to help you out.” The human smiles and leans in close to his ear.

“If you _behave,_ we won’t even have to cut your finger off.” She looks at you and you dismiss her with a nod.

Well, that probably counts as resuming operations after the winter season- if nothing else, it’ll stop Serket bitching in your ear about how bored she is for at least three fucking days. Obviously you’re going to have to tell Harley and the rest to get their shit in gear too, lest they spend the next month staring at walls like the useless morons they are.

And after that, you’re going to go apologise to Kanaya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of IRL stuff going on at the moment, and because of this updates are going to slow in the coming months. I'm not putting this on hiatus, because I am going to try and work on it, but don't be surprised if there are weeks between chapters. It's not abandoned, I'm just busy.  
> That said, thank you to everyone who's read, kudos'ed and commented so far!


	22. Chapter 22

** == > Rose: Have poignant moment with favourite sibling **

Dave is staring at the wall when you find him, one corner of his mouth turned down like it’s trying to escape his poker face. He’s rolling something around in his fingers, a bottle cap maybe, and his sunglasses have half slipped down his nose. He makes you think of a piece in an art museum, ‘The Depth of Grief’, cast from spun glass and acrylic. He makes you feel like the snot nosed child, who has to lean forward to touch even though they know it’ll probably break.

“I think the speckling of the upper left corner is to represent the tarnish that all items on this earth must endure,” you say from behind him, and to his credit he doesn’t even jump.

“Nah. It embodies flickers of sanity, dancing on the periphery. I’ve got this wall all figured out, Lalonde, if you want me to explain it. It’s actually about a senile old woman, who-“ You cut him off, laying your hand over his.

“Can I show you something?” He flicks a nod and pushes himself up.

“I don’t have time for senile old women anyway.”

***

The garden is frigid, sun just beginning to set in the North (because every now and then, the landscape likes to remind you that ‘hey, magical realm over here’). You lead Dave past the partially frozen lake and the hives where Sollux breeds his circuit boards in the balmy season, to the side of the building where the walls are still blackened and the lawn covered in bits of stone.

“Looks like fucking Wreck-It Ralph, all we need is Equius to come by in denim overalls with a bad mood. I reckon Jade could be Vanellope, or maybe Nepeta if she stops murdering the type of small fluffy creatures animal welfare campaigners have wet dreams about. Who would be Felix? It’s not like we actually know anyone nice enough to resemble the canon character, but oh man, could you imagine Karkat in that role? ‘You fucking nookturds, I fixed this five fucking minutes ago, why does everything you touch turn to crap, you are the legitimate King Midas of shit...’” His babbling trails off as you reach a small alcove. Inside is what you believe to be the only currently living plant in the garden, save for the modified evergreens with antifreeze in their xylem.

It’s a rosebush, resplendent with every colour under the sun. Firetruck red clashes gaudily with turquoise, saffron and maroon sit side by side, while three delicate lilac heads encircle a single orange flower bright enough to make your eyes hurt. The walls around it are blackened and broken, but somehow the bush itself has been spared even a leaf being bent out of shape.

“That’s... it’s the mayor’s rose bush. Jade modified it for him. She asked him what his favourite colour was and he handed her the entire box of crayons.” He smiles slightly, but it drops. “Why are we here?”

“I know you said you didn’t care what they did to the body.” You had returned from fixing the building to find Equius both confused and defensive, and Dave unresponsive. It transpired that trolls didn’t have quite the same customs for death as humans, and the body had already been given to Gamzee for disposal. “But you’re a terrible liar.”

“Did you find it?”

“No. I’m sorry, but Gamzee is surprisingly good at his job. Still, I thought you would appreciate... something, at least.” You drop to your knees and push back the leaves, revealing a sandstone slab.

**In loving memory of a good friend, benevolent leader, and truly excellent carapace.**

**Born: God knows when           Died: Too fucking soon**

**You will be missed**

Dave drops down beside you, and for a long time you rest there, simply staring at the gravestone. Neither of you speak, but there’s no awkwardness in the silence- rather, it’s one of solidarity. Eridan is your moirail, but Dave is your brother, so although you spoke to Eridan this morning about if you were crossing boundaries, you ultimately would have done it anyway.

“We should go in,” Dave finally rasps out, and frowns as the two of you climb to your feet. “Shit, Lalonde, you’re shivering.”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing. I’m sure the heat of the speech Karkat has promised us- oh, five minutes from now- will warm me right through.”

“Here, take my hoodie.”

“I assure you, I’m fine-“

“How am I meant to be a knight if all the damsels in distress have suddenly decided they’re strong independent women? Answer me that. Feminism is putting me out of a job, and if they go any further I’ll sue.”

“Talk to Kanaya about that. Or Vriska. Or Terezi. Or really, any of the troll girls. I know John, at least, is terrified of all of them.”

“Only smart thing that goober’s ever done,” Dave mutters. You accept the hoodie and link your arm with his, returning to the building for what promises to be a... colourful speech. Your heart still hurts for the mayor, but it’s tempered- like running cold water over a burn. You can only hope that Dave feels the same, as the gesture was, ultimately, for him.

 

** == > Aradia: Deal with intruders **

“You may be the sorriest clusterfuck I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying my ganderbulbs, but you’ll also be the sorriest clusterfuck _they’ve_ ever had the misfortune of laying their ganderbulbs on. We shall crush them beneath us like tiny insects beneath the boots of our sheer, pants-shitting awesomeness. Between our super shady director and our useless-on-their-own abilities, we will rise from the ashes of ineptitude like glorious phoenixes of raw anger over past injustices! We can-“ It’s been at least half an hour and Karkat doesn’t show any sign of slowing. If anything, he’s just getting more worked up- another five minutes and someone will have to stage an intervention, unless you all want to be covered in mutant blood when he bursts a vein from excitement.

You’re pondering the likelihood of Gamzee being aware enough to prevent this- somewhere between the Imperial Condescension rescinding laws on mutants and Nepeta going vegan- when Sollux leans forward to whisper in your ear.

“How much of this do you think was stolen from ‘An Unlikely Band Of Trolls With Unusual Levels Of Psychic Abilities Or Other Desirable Attributes Band Together To Quash A Rebellion From One Of The Outer Planets, Under The Direction Of Their Vague And Dishonest One-Eyed Leader’?

“Karkat can be the tyrian blood who was actually wearing heels for the entirety of filming because he was so short.”

“They just keep getting taller. At this rate, if I were a human he would come up to my nipples by the end of the month.” You’re about to reply when a flash of pain cuts across your horns. From across the room, Vriska shoots you a meaningful look and you both rise to leave. Karkat pauses, catches on, and resumes talking at double pace as the two of you slip out.

When Karkat had Rose construct the new wards, he had them bound to you and Vriska. They allow FRAF members through at will, the exit of any non-prisoner and the re-entry of any organisation member with permission to enter. A non-FRAF member who leaves has to get permission from a supervisor before he can re-enter, unless he wants to break the wards. You’d asked Karkat why, but he’d muttered something about following footprints and run off. Anyone without permission to enter, be them lost traveller, returning employee or attacking rivals, sets off the pain alarms in your horns. So far, there have been three breeches- two employees returning from after the cold season, and a particularly sentient deer that made for an excellent venison meal.

“Is the increase in pain meant to signify them getting closer, or is it a reprimand for not having dealt with it yet?”

“Who cares?”

“Probably us, since we’re going to meet them head on.” You grab your whip from you strife specibus, and Vriska pulls out a sabre. “What the fuck is that?”

“Karkles made me lock my dice away. Something about things being fishier than Ampora’s nook, and wanting all the legendary weapons to be secured.”

“That is... really fucking stupid. What’s the point of a legendary weapon you if you don’t use it to fight with?”

“Tell me about it.” You fall silent as you approach the breech in the wards, trying to tread as softly as you can among the still frozen leaves. The last few days have been warmer, but it’s close to midnight now and every exhale sends out a puff of white breath.

A little way on, Vriska suddenly stills and grabs your arm. To the right there is a figure, sat on a tree limb. The nights here are darker than Alternia, and though you can’t tell what species it is you can tell it’s completely limp. Somewhere nearby, an owl hoots. You crouch down and scoop a stone off the ground, passing it to Vriska. As annoying as it is to admit it, vision eightfold gives her excellent aim. It ricochets off the head with a hollow clang, and the figure tumbles to the ground.

“A dummy,” she mutters, and you raise your weapons. For a moment there is silence.

“What happened to ‘on my signal’?” snaps a voice, and suddenly they are on you. You have just enough time to realise who it is before you are ducking the glinting blade of a katana. He flash steps away as the whip curls around where his ankles were, and then Jake is front of you instead, brandishing his pistols.

“Sorry, Dirky, but there are a lot of owls in these woods!” From above, Roxy and Jane begin to pelt you with completely generic objects. “Maybe you should, like, do a lion roar. Or a pterodactyl screech!”

“Yes, because pterodactyls are so bloody subtle.” You weren’t aware Jake English even knew what subtle means, but there’s a couple of days worth of stubble on his face and dark bags under his eyes. Blood is starting to trickle into his socks from your whip has lashed open welts on his legs, and you’ve never seen him looking so angry- even when you kidnapped him. Vriska, in a rare fit of magnanimity, knocks one of his pistols into the underbrush as she continues to duel Dirk, and you mostly dodge the shot he takes with the other, the bullet grazing your arm just deep enough to make you hiss.

“Where are the weasels? I was promised that a fight with a Serket always ends in weasels. Is your Captor busy or something?” You can see Vriska wavering under the skill of Dirk’s attacks. She’s not used to fighting with a sword, while both he and Dave are exceptional. Unless something changes, this fight isn’t going to last another thirty seconds.

“That’s rich, coming from a human who’s dating a beaver,” you snap, and drop into a crouch to sweep Jake’s legs from underneath him. He hits the ground like a sack of starch tubers. Vriska, for once, picks up on your plan, and ducks in time for you to spin around and wrap your whip around Dirk’s neck in a surprise attack that leaves him choking. Jake tries to get up, but Vriska presses the tip of her sword against his throat, and for a moment it seems like the two of you have won.

Then Roxy drops from the trees holding the biggest fucking gun you have ever seen in a life filled with massive fucking guns, all giggles gone.

“Right,” she says, and points it right at you. “Now apparently if I kill you, you don’t die. However, I get the feeling that an exploding missile to the stomach will really fucking hurt. So you’re going to stop strangling my brother, you’re going to let Jake up, and you’re going to take us straight to Karkat, or we’re going to see how much damage this baby does at close range.”

For a moment the two of you just gape. Then she raises it threateningly, and Vriska quickly steps back from Jake, while you release tension in your whip and let Dirk fall to his knees, choking. Jane drops down too, and helps them both to their feet as Roxy and Vriska have a Mexican standoff.

“Are you sober?” Vriska is many things, but tactful will never be one of them.

“I am sober, I am hungry, I am cold and I am angry. We have been stranded for five days now. Take us inside, or I will shoot you.”

“Fine, fine. Jeez. The main building is this way.” They trail behind you, Roxy occasionally lifting her gun in a half-hearted effort to stay threatening. Now that you’re not fighting, they really do look exhausted. Jane keeps jumping at small noises, and looking around anxiously, and you can see now that there are cracks running through Dirk’s glasses. Jake is leaning on him, and stumbles every couple of steps. It isn’t until you reach the entrance of the building that you realise he’s missing his glasses; it explains why all his shots were wide.

“I swear to god,” calls a voice from the hallway as you file in. You can hear the heels of Karkat’s shoes tapping their way towards you. “If it was another sentient antler beast, I am going to amass the entirety of Ampora’s armoury and purge Derse, not of wildlife, but of brain dead warlocks who think a really fucking good idea is bestowing brains on-“ Karkat rounds the corner, and stops talking for all of one second as he takes in the scene. Then he’s right back on track. “Oh, well that’s just fucking brilliant. The universe has clearly found some laxatives and dumped this quadruple whammy of four assholes full of shit right on my doorstep, how fucking considerate. Paradox space can go fuck itself with a rusted pitchfork. As for you two-“ he rounds on you and Vriska “did you seriously bring a sword and a whip to a gunfight? Did you forget your brains in the room when you headed out, or did you just never put them in in the first place? Fuck, maybe you should rent out that empty space between your ears, at least it will be good for something then! I swear, I-!”

“Oh, shut up!” yells Roxy, shooting into the ceiling. Thankfully, it’s with one of Jake’s pistols instead of her weapon of mass destruction, but it’s loud enough to make your ears hurt and to make Karkat stop.

“He almost makes our Vantas look quiet,” mumbles Jane, pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes. She sounds like she wants to cry.

“That’s all just too fucking bad, because we have a lot of shit for you. Where’s your office?” Roxy meets his baleful glare with a particularly terrifying one of her own, and though he doesn’t visibly cower he does lean away.

“I’m not telling you until you void your fucking death machine.” It disappears with a faint pop; the glare remains firmly in place. “Okay, follow me. Serket, Megido, be on call.” You both nod, and as soon as they’re gone rush to tell the others what happened.

 

** == > Karkat: Receive shit from four assholes **

The moment the door of your office has shut, they all just seem to break. Jane collapses into a chair and Roxy crawls miserably into her lap. Jake, you would not fucking believe it if you hadn’t seen it, first sits cross legged on the floor before, after all of two painful seconds, giving up and curling into a ball, cheek down on your carpet. Only Dirk remains standing, and he’s leaning on your desk like it’s the only solid in a universe constantly trying to fuck him up the ass. You recognise the pose, as it’s one you’ve adopted many times, particularly in recent months.

“So let’s skip any stupid human ‘how’s your mother’s cousin’s wife’s puppy’ and cut to the chase: what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Alpha are dead.” It’s the first thing you’ve heard Dirk say yet, and his normal god-awful monotone sounds mechanical. “The night after the cold season ended, angels attacked our headquarters. We’re the only ones who got out.”

“You’re shitting me.” The girls’ eyes flick to you, but their faces don’t betray any emotion- only pure exhaustion. “Oh, fuck no. Oh, for fuck’s-“ you kick your desk, and let out a yell of rage when that turns out to actually be really painful. “No. This was not fucking meant to happen. We had a plan, we were going to burn those assholes out of existence, and it was going to be fucking brilliant, and now this? Now...” You join Dirk in leaning against your desk. For once, you do not know what to say- there is no biting metaphor, no crude yet clever way of phrasing just how shitty everything is. There are just the facts, staring you in the face, and no amount of furious diatribe is going to change that. “They must have come for you the day after they came for us.”

“We were in a middle of a meeting about it. Trying to decide whether to send aid, or to prepare in case we were attacked.” Jane isn’t looking at you anymore; she’s staring, unblinkingly, into nothing, and if you couldn’t hear her talking, see her breathing, you might think she was dead for how blank she looks. “Then Roxy tried to void up a martini, but she couldn’t.”

“You had the crosshairs.” It’s Jake, voice muffled by the carpet. “And the dice. The codpiece only works on trolls. And when Porrim sent Meulin to fetch L’il Cal, she came back, laughing like she’d lost her marbles and crying all at the same time.”

“And you’re sure they’re dead?”

“Yes, we’re fucking sure,” Dirk bites out. “I saw every one of them die before my eyes, so don’t you fucking question that.” Silence falls, and you shut your eyes, trying to process the information. You’d hated them, fuck, you hated Kankri and his douchelord face and his douchelord voice more than perhaps anything else not immediately trying to kill you, but the fact that he’d dead...

Death has not been a real thing for you since you left Alternia. Between Feferi and Aradia, it’s been more of an abstract concept that other people have to deal with. Not you, not with your timetable. Someone dies, you just bring them back so that they can keep on working.

“You had Ѱdon’s Entente. Or the brain fork. Or whatever monstrous eldritch shape that prong of evil is currently taking.”

“Didn’t work. It’s apparently only a super weapon when fuelled by life powers, which, with the angels whizzing around-“ Roxy shakes her hands. “Kablooey. Just a really big gold fork.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, as though that will somehow help a plan muscle its way into your unresponsive slab of grey matter.

“Okay. Shit, okay. You can stay here for... well, indefinitely, so long as you don’t try to royally fuck us over. I’ll get someone to set up your rooms. And Equius can go back with you in the next few days, see if there’s anything worth salvaging. Will you need babysitters? Of course you’ll need babysitters, what the fuck am I asking, you can’t just run around in here like it’s a new level of some game grub you’ve just unlocked and are now exploring just to blow up later.” They wince, and you realise you are a heinous asshole with no brain-to-mouth filter, because gog, can you say ‘too soon’? “I’ll send your dancestors to you in a couple of hours,” you say more quietly. “I’ll let you get some sleep first, though.”

They nod gratefully, and you ring for one consort to bring it, and another to bring some food in the meantime. For a few minutes, there’s silence, them too tired to talk and you unsure what to say. Then Jane turns to blink at you through barely-open blue eyes.

“Thank you, Karkat.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, resisting the urge to drag your claws through your hair. “You lot would have done the same if it was reversed.”

“That’s different. We actually like you, whereas all of you have made it very clear how you feel about us.”

“That’s not true,” you say, then stop. No point trying to hide it, it won’t do anything but piss them off. “Yeah, okay, it is. Except Kanaya, I guess. And Nepeta. Still...” You shut your eyes and let your head fall back, hitting the door you’re leaning against with a dull thud. “I have no idea how I’m going to break it to everyone. Serket and Megido have probably already told them all you’re here, but I’ll be the one dumping this flaming lump of bark-beast faeces at their feet.” There’s a knock at the door, and the consort has arrived with food, which thy accept in silence. Another one arrives to say the rooms have been made up.

“Stay here with them,” you order it. “Once they’ve finished eating, take them to their rooms.”

“Where are you going?” asks Roxy. She has voided out a bottle of whisky, and you wonder why she didn’t just do that earlier. Deciding it’s a question for another day, you grab the door handle.

“My motivational speech earlier went down as well as a lead balloon. Maybe this can spur them into some sort of action.”


	23. Chapter 23

** == > Rose: Comfort your flush crush **

The door to the lounge is slightly ajar, and when you peer in you can just make out her miserable form, curled up on the sofa. This is the room where you first met Tavros, when Vriska and Aradia were watching their strippers, and in the stark light of day it looks cold and washed out. The walls are white, no decorations, paint grubby and chipped. There are no windows, the room being in the centre of one of the wings. The sofa sags.

“Whoever has just entered, I would like you to leave again. Please.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You sit down on the other end of the sofa and she regards you, eyes completely dry. Kanaya has never seemed like one to cry, but it does surprise you.

“No. Not to you, I don’t. You may not realise the implication it would have, but Eridan certainly will, and no matter my feelings towards him that is something I will not do.” She hesitates, then continues. “And, because I feel too emotionally exhausted to bother restraining myself, because I could not deal with the confusion that would leave for me. I am not entirely traditional in my approach to quadrants, I will admit, but right now I will not put myself through the stress of muddling them. So no, Rose; you placating me is not something I want, now or most likely ever.”

“Then what do you want.” There is a very long moment where she looks from you, to her hands, and back to you again; not uncertain, nor shy: more considering, like a chemist comparing readings from two of their spectrometers, trying to figure out exactly what they’re dealing with. Seeming to decide, she leans forward.

“I want you to kiss me until I forget to stop glowing. I want you to kiss me, and run your human hands over me, and I will know that I am safe for, no matter how powerful you think you are, you do not have claws nor horns nor fangs. I am safe, because if you are half as enamoured with me as I am with you then there is no hope for either of us. Then I will return to my room and cry until it feels like I am washing my eyes with acid, before falling into a sleep that I hope I shall never awake from. Comfort would kill me, so that is what I want instead.” She stares at you, and you stare back, and then you half-whisper

“I can manage that.”

The words have barely left your mouth before her lips are on yours, melding together, incredibly soft and incredibly firm at the same time. You can feel the curve of her fangs behind them, can feel the tips of her claws pricking your arms where she holds you, and you press back against her. It is like all the stress of the past few days has just been released, a ball of fear and hurt and desperation pouring into this kiss. You are train wrecks, both of you, and you think you are understanding why trolls have such an obsession with filling all the quadrants. This is a different type of cathartic: everything negative that you thought you had passed to Eridan, that you’d been keeping hidden in the space between your ribs and bellow your heart, burnt away in the heat of the moment. You are awash in flame, and oh- that might be because she’s started glowing.

The kiss is a perfect dictionary definition of inelegant, every young troll’s idea of sloppy make out heaven, and the thought does nothing but make you smile to yourself. It is easy to forget, sometimes, in this world of drugs and weapons and death, that you are still three months shy of your twentieth birthday. You deserve stupid, hormone addled, joyfully unrefined and slightly clumsy snogging sessions. You deserve to let yourself breathe.

Hands ghost against your hips, making you shiver and draw closer; your fingertips trace the point of shoulder blades, the curve of her back. Every inch is taut, lean muscle and skin so soft, you can practically hear the Dove commercial as you run your hands across it. A pair of fangs nips at your lips; you possibly let out a small moan.

Then all of a sudden she’s pulling away.

Her eyelashes are spiky, clumped together with tears that pool on top of her cheekbones, suddenly spilling over in a cascade of briny misery. You’ve never seen Kanaya cry. With a wan smile, she pulls you forward and drops a feather-light peck on your lips. Then she stands and leaves.

You let her go- it wouldn’t be fair to her to do anything but. Part of you aches deeply for the misery she is in, for how despite all her pale meddling she doesn’t have a moirail of her own; you are beginning to understand that friendship, in the human sense, simply isn’t enough.

But then the other part of you remembers how she felt pressed against you, the warmth and the firmness and the softness, and your lips curve into a dopey grin.

** == > Terezi: Attempt a final warning **

You have no intention of rehashing the same, tired conversations, so you track down someone you know will listen to your fears: Eridan.

In any other situation, he’s the last person you would talk to about an issue of gravity- really, one of the last people you would talk to full stop. Any conversation _with_ him generally turns into a conversation _about_ him, mainly about how bad he has it despite how amazing he is. However, you’ve smelt the gooey eyes he sends Rose, the scent of them enough to leave you seeking insulin supplements. Hopefully, in this matter he will listen.

“I’m concerned about your moirail,” you say off the bat when you find him, and he immediately shuts his fishy mouth and leans forward. “I’m concerned what she will do to herself, and I’m concerned what she will do to the rest of us. Her reliance on the horrorterrors is dangerous and unhealthy.”

“I know,” he says, and it brings you up short. A long moment passes, and then he laughs. “Tez, you may be a seer of mind, but I’m her _moirail._ Do I look blind ta you- uh, no offence of anything’.”

“None taken,” you say sourly. “I just want to know how you intend to address this.” He shrugs.

“I don’t.” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Mr Salted Grape, how can you call herself her moirail in one breath and then reveal yourself to be so callous and uncaring in the next? I had a low bar for you, but even still you’ve managed to fall short of it!” He sighs and the chair squeaks as he leans back, removing his glasses to rub at his face.

“Look at it like this, Tez- you can all the paths a people’s choices and stuff, right?” You nod, unsure where he’s going with this. “And it looks like one a Vris’ spiderwebs, doesn’t it? All different lines and crossin’ points and shit like that?” You nod again. “Well, picture Rose on her bit of web- she chose that bit of web, she’s walkin’ down it, and at the moment there isn’t anywhere for her ta turn off. So no amount a cajolin’ or bitchin’ or whatever you expect me ta do is goin’ t gaet her off her bit a web. She can’t right now.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s not like she’s glued to it or anything, she can just shove all her relics in the back of a cupboard and learn to be a proper seer. Like me. Instead of risking... risking everyone’s lives with this... it’s just...” There’s a whiff of butter as his expression softens, and you want to hit him for that.

“You’ve been havin’ a shit time a it, Tez, anyone can see that. I get that you’re tryin’ ta look out for the rest a us, but do you really think that’s likely? Kar needs her powers ta find Lord English, he’s not gonna let it drop. Her dancestor is here, gettin’ her hackles up like some sort of weird, human kismesis, and if the angels come back her wands are one a our only weapons against them. Makin’ her stop now doesn’t make sense tactics wise, and isn’t goin’ ta work anyway.”

“So what do you plan to do? Smile and wave as she brings this building to the ground around us? You know what it’s like to die, Eridan- I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so eager to do it again!” To your chagrin, he doesn’t rise to your bait; instead, he just sits and stares, and waits to make sure you’re done.

“When she reaches a crossroad, I’ll help her choose the right path. If she falls off a the web entirely, I’ll be there to catch her.”

“And if she dies?”

“Then we’ll go down fightin’ together. Tez, you can’t put the pin back in a grenade- you can only try and stop too many people gettin’ hurt. You've done all you can, Tez, and I'm going ta do all I can when the time comes. Until then... let it be." You bite your lower lip, hard enough that you can taste the tang of teal on your tongue. "Tez. Let it be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> Sorry for the super slow updates, real life has been kicking my butt. There's going to be another pause, because I'm going on a uni course, and then I'm going to try and have this finished by the end of September. I've got everything planned out, it just needs writing  
> MW112

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome, and if you feel that there is anything I should add to the tags do not hesitate to tell me! I do not want to trigger anyone!  
> That said, I have no update schedule, but buckle up kiddies! It's going to be a long one!


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